


Love me, blame me, hate me (but please don't forget me)

by sunshine_kitcat (moonkevin)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Loss, Post-War, basically someone died and someone needs to move on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonkevin/pseuds/sunshine_kitcat
Summary: They say the hardest thing someone could do for a loved one is to let them go.God, Chan hated that.-Alternatively, Lee Chan thought that his life would end the moment he lost the one person that seemed to make his world go round. But, as it turns out, life goes on, whether he liked it or not. Armed with Captain Boo Snarky Seungkwan, cryptic scavenger hunt clues and an unfinished time machine, Lee Chan has the power to change everything that went wrong—but at what cost?
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Lee Chan | Dino, Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Lee Chan | Dino, implied seokgyu jihaencheol wonhui and soonhoon but its not really important
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31
Collections: You Made My Summer Fest





	Love me, blame me, hate me (but please don't forget me)

_The hardest thing to do for someone you love_ _is to let them go_.

Grandma was always a little depressing with her parting words.

He’s a tiny thirteen-year-old in this one, sitting on the hammock in the back porch of his home, while his mom’s busy making Chan's favourite meals one last time. There’s a letter of acceptance in Chan’s hands, fold lines creased from the millions of times he’s folded and unfolded it. Chan’s grandma sits on the rocking chair that faces out into the river below, a soft smile on her face and her eyes barely open. Chan’s mom used to tell Chan how strict his grandma was, always making her work towards her goal at twice the speed her peers were. She never ended up becoming the airship commander she wanted, but she did become Jin-Li’s best cartographer and marry an airship commander instead. His grandma hadn’t been the most supportive of their relationship, according to Chan’s mom. She was always a grumpy one, mom said, but she brightened up after Chan’s dad went off to the army and died.

Chan wouldn’t know how she changed, though. His dad died much too early.

“Accepted into the training program for the  _ aliums _ , hm? They’re taking kids much too early into the army lately,” Chan’s grandma mumbles, taking a once over of Chan’s letter. He expects her to frown, dismiss Chan’s trip or even sigh, but the old lady only leans back on her chair and stares at the sky.

“There is a war going on,” Chan tries, nervously watching his grandma. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. His mom has already given him her blessing, albeit her choked words through her tears are hard to take as ‘positive’.

“Come home safely, Chan,” Grandma finally says. Chan nods, biting his bottom lip.

“I’ll try my best,” Chan replies. His grandma looks over at him, smile faltering for a second.

“Your mother and I will worry very much, boy,” Grandma points out. Chan nods. Part of the reason he’s even out here talking to his grandma was to not have to see his mom burst into tears at the sight of Chan in his travelling gear.

“Your poor mother has lost one very important person in her life,” Grandma continues as a lump form as in Chan’s throat. “Don’t make her lose another.”

Chan nods shakily. Grandma’s smile turns sympathetic.

“The hardest thing to do for someone you love is to let them go, Chan,” Grandma’s tone turns solemn, and the lump in Chan’s throat only gets bigger.

“You’ll see me again, grandma,” Chan croaks out, trying to reassure her. Grandma just shakes her head.

“I better,  _ alium _ -recruit Lee.”

“Can you believe it’s finally over?” Seungkwan’s voice snaps Chan out of his trip down memory lane. Chan whips his head up from the slightly burned photo in his hands, meeting Seungkwan’s gaze. Seungkwan’s floating half a meter off the ground, hovering off the grass field they used as a makeshift base floor. Construction for an alium peace watchtower here begins in a week, and Chan and the others are expected to get out in about four hours for the others to tear down the camp. Chan spends his last four hours sitting behind the grassy field to the left of the camp, hiding in the folds of a foggy morning and staring at old photographs of his strike unit, now relocated all over the world for post-war cleanup.

When Seungkwan came floating over (instead of walking like a normal human being, but aliums have always been overly dramatic, and Boo Seungkwan is no exception) with a bunch of old boxes from cleanup floating behind him, Chan hopes he brings some kind of update on wherever they were being relocated.

“Do you have something for me?” Chan asks instead of answering Seungkwan’s question. Seungkwan wrinkles his nose at him, evidently annoyed, but he turns around to pluck a box out for Chan anyway. Seungkwan hands Chan the old dusty box, marked with a stamp of the Jin-Li Army symbol, a dragon curling around a sword. Chan gives Seungkwan a curious look, accepting the box.

“What’s in here?” Chan asks. Seungkwan purses his lips hesitantly.

“Stuff from the old camp in Windam. It’s the stuff he wanted you to have in his will,” Seungkwan explains, averting his gaze. Chan frowns, dusting off the top of the box before flicking a flap open, delving into the contents. There’s an old frayed notebook, three old plushies of an otter, a koala and a polar bear Chan distinctly remember from his final days at the Academy, and a small contraption of gears and crystals, shaped like the funnel cakes Chan grew somewhat addicted to back in the Academy. Chan sucks in a breath, feeling a wave of vivid, buried emotions rising in his chest.

“Is this…” Chan begins, faltering as he runs his hand over the surface of the notebook, blinking away a prickling sensation at the corner of his eyes. Dust collects at his fingertips, clearing off the old notebook as Chan lifts it out, ignoring the other two items in the box. Seungkwan rests a tentative hand on Chan’s shoulder, slowly squeezing it in encouragement. Chan swallows, clearing off the last layer of dust before opening it to the first page.

He nearly chokes in the first words.

“Chan? You goo— Oh shit, you’re crying.” Seungkwan quickly dabs at the corner of Chan’s face with his sleeve, dropping down next to Chan on the wet grass. Chan bites his bottom lip, trying to blink away to condensation on his eyes.

“It’s just the fog,” Chan mumbles weakly. Seungkwan scoffs.

“Yeah, and I’m the prime minister of Jin-Li,” Seungkwan mumbles, staring at Chan with concern. Chan snorts at the idea of Seungkwan standing in front of Jin-Li’s government and tries to yell at the cabinet to whip themselves up. The snort turns choked at delivery, feeding back into the lump in Chan’s throat. Chan wipes his tears away, drawing a shaky breath as he tries to read.

“Do you want me to read it?” Seungkwan says gently. Chan looks at his best friend, the other half to the duo formed from the first step Chan took through the Academy halls. Seungkwan, who was there for him at every moment of his life from age thirteen onwards. The only other person Chan knew as they were drafted into Unit Seventeen of the alium division of the Jin-Li army. Seungkwan knew him better than Chan knew himself. Insecurities, coping habits, facades, all the likes.

“Yeah,” Chan mumbles, handing the notebook over to Seungkwan gingerly. He leans his head onto Seungkwan’s shoulder, not able to look at the pages as he stares at the wispy mists. It’s as thick as soup, blocking off the rest of the world so no one can see Chan cry. The bright diamond beacon of joy of Unit Seventeen, nation’s beloved sweetheart. What would they say at the sight of him crying after the war ended with a sweet victory?

“If you’re reading this,” Seungkwan starts reading, “that means I’m probably dead.”

Sweet victory, bitter consequences. Chan feels his chest tightening. Suffocating. His every breath turns heavy as he tries his best to stop thinking about  _ that _ battle.

“Please don’t blame yourself, Chan-ah, you do that enough regularly,” Seungkwan continues, keeping his voice level and monotone if only to spare Chan some peace of mind.

“I know we promised to unite the people and make the world a better place together, but I couldn’t quite make it, could I? Blame me, if you want. It’s better than blaming yourself, Chan. You’re probably going to cry yourself to death, running away from everyone, aren’t you? If you do that, Ddollie’s going to be mad, you know?”

Chan chokes on a bitter laugh. Seungkwan only sighs, mumbling something to himself.

“I have one last favour to ask of you. There’s this machine I made since we got to Windam, and I want you to complete it. It’s a time-travelling device, of sorts.”

Chan’s ears perk up, a pang of hope echoing in his chest. Could it be possible?

“I’ve included it in the will,” Seungkwan continues, his tone rising slightly. Good, so Chan wasn’t the only one who thought of it. 

“And I hope you’ll find a way to put it to good use. It’s only got one charge, and it can only interfere with the last five seconds of someone’s life. A chance to reverse death, if you will. It’s nearly done, just missing one last ingredient. I trust you can find it. I’ve left the beginning of the trail for you. Love, Hansol,” Seungkwan finishes. Chan frowns, staring up at Seungkwan.

“Wait, that’s it?” Chan asks. Seungkwan’s eyes narrow, scanning the note again before flipping through the next few pages. There are doodles and notes of the device on the following pages, along with some logs on progress in building, but no continuation.

“That seems to be it,” Seungkwan concludes, flipping to the very last page. It’s blank as if Hansol never got the chance to fill out the result of his experiment. Chan stares at it in confusion, gears in his brain whirring at top speed to try and figure out what the last ingredient is.

“A trail… clues? Oh my god is he sending you on a scavenger hunt?” Seungkwan muses. Chan furrows his brow, snatching the notebook out of Seungkwan’s hand as he pores over the notes for any kind of hint. Seungkwan takes to studying the time-travelling contraption Hansol left for Chan, holding up into the sky and squinting at it.

“It’s only one ingredient, right? Why can’t he just give a name, location and call it a day? He wants this to be completed, right? So we can bring him back to life,” Chan mumbles, furiously flipping. Seungkwan pauses, staring at a wet spot on the ground as a look passes on his face. Chan peeks over Hansol’s notebook, staring at Seungkwan with curiosity.

“What’s on your mind?” Chan asks. Seungkwan purses his lips. He cranes his neck back, staring straight up into the slowly clearing sky.

“Chwe Vernon Hansol, you sneaky bastard,” Seungkwan mutters, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips. Chan frowns.

“What?” he asks. Seungkwan meets his gaze, a look of determination forming in his eyes. Chan stares at him in confusion.  _ What are you thinking? _ Chan asks in his mind. Seungkwan grins, turning back to the box as he pulls out the plushies Hansol got for the three of them for their first Christmas together. An old memory. Chan remembers it like it was yesterday.

“Help me cut this one open,” Seungkwan hands Chan the polar bear. Chan flinches, clutching it to his chest protectively as he stares at Seungkwan with wild eyes.

“What? Are you crazy?” Chan asks, bewildered. Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“There are stitch marks on the back, and those are definitely not the ones the plushie came with. Sol hid something in it,” Seungkwan calmly explains, pulling out his weapon from the holster. Chan stares at the long rapier with wariness, well aware of what Seungkwan is about to do to this poor plushie.

“This thing’s lived through four explosions, nine great fights of the Roommates and somehow survived Jin-Li Mail Express with nothing more but a bit of dust, and you want to end its life just like that?” Chan defies furiously.

“Yes. Hand it over,” Seungkwan deadpans. Chan sighs, relenting.

He turns away for the actual dissection, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to ignore the ripping sound Seungkwan’s making.

“Are you doing a clean cut at least?” Chan asks. Seungkwan snorts behind him.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan replies. The sounds stop, and Chan tentatively turns around. The bear is relatively unharmed, no stuffing lying outside of the clean-cut down its back. Chan stares at Seungkwan with a miffed expression.

“Murderer,” Chan mumbles. Seungkwan gives him a cheeky smile.

“That’s me,” Seungkwan replies, unfolding the piece of paper he salvaged from inside the bear. Chan rolls his eyes, but he can’t find it in himself to be mad. Hope courses through him like blood, a flash of overwhelming emotions as the memory of the night before  _ that _ battle finally fades into a dull hum, no longer able to bother Chan. He’s got too much hope to dwell on  _ that _ battle anymore.

“What’s it say?” Chan asks. Seungkwan furrows his brow.

“A… poem? It’s kind of short though,” Seungkwan notes. Chan sighs.

“So a riddle?” Chan asks, daring to believe the worse. Seungkwan nods.

Chan pinches his nose bridge, scowling. “He’s not making this easy, is he? Why though?”

Seungkwan shrugs, although Chan can clearly tell he knows exactly why Hansol's doing it. Chan resists the urge to shout ‘care to share with the class?’, instead gesturing for Seungkwan to read it aloud.

“I was about to sleep, but I woke up from thinking of you and went outside. I was walking, but started running just like my heart,” Seungkwan recites. Chan frowns in thought, furrowing his brows.

“Sounds like lyrics, with the phrasing and all,” Chan muses. Suddenly, Seungkwan snaps, shooting up as a grin blooms on his face. Under the sunlight and in his beige overcoat, Chan thought he almost looked like the heroes the army printed out onto posters. Then again, Chan muses, their unit was the one who reversed the tide of the war, despite losing one of their own.

“We’re dealing with death and music, right?” Seungkwan points out, excitement in his tone. Chan cocks his head to the side.

“Yeah? And?” Chan asks.

“Well who better to talk about death and music,” Seungkwan says while grinning, “than our very own music man and ghost talking buddy?”

Chan’s eyes widen in realization, jumping up as a smile sneaks onto his face. Seungkwan falters for a second, staring at Chan with a fond gaze. Chan wonders if he’s been  _ that _ depressed lately. Must’ve shown.

“Well then, what are we waiting for,” Chan announces, running into the camp. Seungkwan yelps behind him, scrambling to keep up as he follows Chan. Chan rides on the waves of hope, the alium magic in his veins humming to life at his emotions, covering Chan in a thin veil of light as he teleports across the camp to his bunk. Seungkwan follows through his portal, and they stumble by a soldier helping with tear down.

“Woah, watch it,” he yells at them. Chan glances back, watching the soldier watch him in disbelief and grins.

“Sorry!” Chan yells back. The camp stares at him in confusion, but Chan can see the muscles on their faces stretching into a soft smile. Wow, he must’ve been  _ really _ depressed lately.

“What did you eat for breakfast today, Chan?” someone yells at him from across the camp. Chan gives them a mock salute before ducking into his tent, Seungkwan in tow. Something falls on his head in the rush, but Chan’s too hyper to even register the pain.

“Slow down, Chan,” Seungkwan laughs. Chan ignores him, pulling out his holopad and scanning his emails for the hospital.

“He’s woken up, right?” Chan mumbles. Seungkwan makes a noise of affirmation, drowned under the sound of his winds whipping their stuff into two neat suitcases. Chan smiles, flicking up a hologram of an email from a week back as he scans it for a hospital. His finger taps on the second paragraph, where an old friend disclosed where he is in case anyone wants to come and ‘save him from death by boredom’.

“Just you wait, Lee Jihoon,” Chan whispers to himself, “we’re coming.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m happy to see you, given why you’re here,” Jihoon grumbles.

“Whatever do you mean, darling? Aren’t you glad to see your most favourite person in the world?” Seungkwan fakes an overly sweet impression of Jihoon’s aunt, sticking his nose in the air and jutting out his bottom lip. Chan snorts a laugh, watching Jihoon cackle at the impression, although Chan can’t tell if it’s genuinely finding it funny or just Jihoon’s fond side for Seungkwan laughing. He bends over too hard at one point, clapping his hands together and nearly yanking his IV bag out of its stand. Chan catches the clear plastic bag out of the corner of his eyes, jumping out of his chair to push the stand back up before it falls over. In his haste, he nearly knocks over Jihoon’s lyric notebook, catching it with his knee as he knocks it back onto the bedside table. Jihoon glances at him briefly, a silent ‘thanks’ passing between them, although Chan can feel the slight hesitation in his gesture. Jihoon absolutely hated needing someone else to take care of him, after all. Always made him quite the difficult one to work with, even if he softened a bit over the years.

“I can’t believe I need a dead teammate leaving cryptic clues for the two of you to come to visit,” Jihoon grumbles under his breath, shaking his head. Chan shrugs, pulling out Hansol’s notebook from his jacket pocket as he swings himself next to Jihoon on the bed. He opens it to the page with the song lyrics, tapping Jihoon’s shoulder lightly to get his attention. Jihoon shifts his weight over, glancing at the notebook briefly before sighing.

“So, you need the next part of the clues for your time-travelling machine, so you’re here to ask me to talk to Sol?” Jihoon asks. Chan nods hesitantly, pursing his lips. Jihoon sighs.

“I don’t know where he is, so it’s not like I can just summon him up, y’know?” Jihoon reminds them. Chan makes a noise of affirmation, before tapping on the pages again to divert Jihoon’s attention.

“He writes songs with you, though,” Chan points out, gesturing to the notebook on Jihoon’s bedside. He taps on the book again, and Jihoon finally takes it from Chan. He closes it, throwing it onto the bedside table and refuses to answer Chan's confused squeak. Then, Jihoon looks at Seungkwan.

“Did he give you one?” Jihoon asks Seungkwan. Seungkwan shakes his head. Chan stares at him in confusion, watching Seungkwan's eyes slowly dawn in realization as he figures out what must be going on. Chan, on the other hand, is still confused.

“Do you know the point of the whole thing, at least?” Jihoon asks Seungkwan again. A smile tugs at the corner of Seungkwan’s lips.

“I can venture an educated guess,” Seungkwan replies curtly. Chan whips his head back to Jihoon, watching in confusion as he purses his lips. Jihoon nods, smiling at Seungkwan.

“Don’t give him more hope, Seungkwan. The poor boy will break once he finds out,” Jihoon says cryptically. Chan furrows his brows, turning back to Seungkwan. His neck is starting to hurt with all the swivelling.

“I’ll try,” Seungkwan says, “but you know he won’t give up.”

Jihoon is silent.

“What are you two talking about?” Chan interrupts, still confused. Jihoon sighs, waving to get Chan’s attention.

“It’s in my notebook, the second to last page. The one next to all the tear marks,” Jihoon instructs. Chan frowns in confusion, but he does as he’s told. He flips to the second to last page, seeing two ripped pages besides a yellowed page and singed on the edges, in contrast to the clean and neat white pages that filled the rest of the book. Chan looks at Jihoon hesitantly, who simply gives him a ‘go on’ gesture. Chan bites his bottom lip, gripping the page gingerly as he starts to tears. The page comes off without a fight as if it was only tucked into the book instead of being an actual page. In swirly black cursive, the flowing text reads the next part of the lyrics.

_ “Even though I don’t know where you are _

_ I’m following the compass of my heart _

_ Slowly looking through _

_ The map in my heart” _

Chan stares at it in wonder, turning around to face Jihoon.

“Is this the next one?” Chan asks. Jihoon nods. Seungkwan clears his throat before Chan can become even more confused.

“Why don’t you explain it, Jihoon,” Seungkwan prompts. Jihoon nods reluctantly.

“Chwe Hansol, genius extraordinaire knew he was going to die from the get-go,” Jihoon begins, ever the cheerful one. “He also knew you’d never get over it, and predicted you’d spend the rest of your days moping. To be fair, he was right, no?” Jihoon raises. Chan bites the inside of his cheek, silently agreeing.

Jihoon continues. “So he made this device, able to reverse one death if given the right ingredients. The thing is, reversing his death would mean changing the course of the war. Hansol took down the general with him, and that’s the only reason Jin-Li managed to win, you know this.”

Chan swallows, nodding hesitantly. Jihoon gives him a pointed look.

“He gave some of us clues towards the final flower, telling us very specifically not to give you the notes until you’ve learnt something else about why he did it,” Jihoon explains, “so you’d ultimately decide against using the machine.”

Chan frowns.

“But why would I do that?” Chan raises. Jihoon shrugs.

“Hell if I know. Duty? Commitment? Love? Hansol’s cryptic.” Chan flinches at the third term, a frown etching itself on his face as certain memories resurface. Before he can start dwelling on the past again, Seungkwan gently taps him on the shoulder, smiling lightly as he gestures to the letter.

“Whatever the case,” Seungkwan says comfortingly, “we’ll see his wish to the end, right? You’ll decide what to do then.”

Chan nods, swallowing another onslaught of tears from dwelling on the past. Jihoon stares at Seungkwan in approval, pursing his lips one more time before patting Chan’s hair.

“Hansol told me to tell you one more thing, before he left,” Jihoon brings up. Chan’s eyes perk up, his head lifting to meet Jihoon’s gaze, hesitating. How could he continue, knowing what Hansol meant for his quest? A pointless journey around Jin-Li?

“What was it?” Chan asks, his voice betraying him by quivering. Jihoon gives him a sympathetic smile.

“He’s sorry for that time, and he loves you very much.”

The first tear slipped out before Chan even noticed.

“I wonder if Soonyoung-hyung would want to see us,” Chan mumbles to himself. They’re walking on the docks of Jin-Li’s coastal trading hub, Caleah, where airships and steamships are docked on the vast wooden structure of the Port. Chan can see wardens walking up and down the docks, spotting thieves and breaking up arguments between rowdy airship pilots and stubborn steamship captains. Chan peers over Seungkwan’s shoulder to the far end of the docks, where a group of boys play hide and seek between the shipment containers. A lady wearing a naval uniform barrels down from the airship near the containers, yelling and waving her hands around as she tries to shoo the boys. Seungkwan follows Chan’s gaze, turning to the boys and watching with mild amusement.

“Reminds you of someone?” Seungkwan asks. Chan smiles in return, lightly shrugging.

“Soonyoung would never get caught. He’d have been in the airship before the other kids even noticed him,” Chan points out. Seungkwan rolls his eyes, snorting as they continue down the docks. The coastal wind ruffles the page in Seungkwan’s hand, threatening to snatch the paper as Seungkwan’s grip tightens.

“Where is that loud idiot anyway,” Seungkwan mumbles, squinting his eyes as he peers around the docks. Chan shrugs, scanning for the vivid red tuft of hair belonging to Soonyoung.

“Jihoon said he’s leaving tomorrow, so we haven’t missed him yet,” Chan says, walking over to a nearby banister to climb on top of. A warden spots him, widening his eyes and bringing his whistle to his mouth to blow at Chan, but Chan just gives him a smirk and waves his Unit Badge. The warden pauses, nodding glumly as he went about. Perks of being a world-saving hero: you’re allowed to take zero bullshit from anyone. In the corner of Chan’s eyes, a gigantic pillar of flame shoots out from the deck of an airship, narrowly missing the other docked airships as a loud shriek ripple through the crowd. Moments later, a seagull falls from the sky, landing in the sea.

Chan sighs.

“Well, there he is,” Chan grunts, vaulting over the banister onto the lower docks as the rest of the wardens try to assure the citizen’s everything’s okay. Seungkwan joins Chan moments later, ducking under a wild purse swing and trying to keep his head low.

“Remind me why they even gave him an airship piloting permit?” Seungkwan grumbles, pushing through the crowd. Chan shrugs, gathering magic in his palm as he swings it across the docks. People stare at the glowing orb, watching in wonder as it pops into a portal, spitting Seungkwan and Chan onto the airship dock. Soonyoung’s maniacal grin is the first thing they see, flames licking his palms, which hold a seagull by the ankles as Soonyoung notices their arrival.

“Ah, there you are! Jihoon told me you guys were coming, so I’m just getting dinner for us!” Soonyoung cheerfully greets. Seungkwan rolls his eyes marching over to Soonyoung. Before he reaches, a flying pod of seeds collide with Soonyoungs forehead, knocking him out as a gasp ripples through the crowd. Chan looks up to the captain’s deck.

“Nothing to see here, folks,” Wonwoo’s deep voice rumbles through the air, magnified with a gigantic megaphone as he signals for Chan and Seungkwan to get Soonyoung out of sight. Chan complies, summoning another portal to get inside the airship and helping Seungkwan drag Soonyoung inside. He flashes the crowd with a winning smile, who’s still staring and mumbling amongst themselves.

“I’m going to kill this guy someday,” Seungkwan mumbles under his breath. Chan shrugs, hitching Soonyoung’s shoulder to Chan’s forearm for speed. The crowd starts recognizing the three, pointing and calling out as they retreat inside the cabin. A wall of vines sprouted on the side of the deck, cutting the rest of the crowd from the crew. Soonyoung stirs groggily in Chan’s arms, and Seungkwan bangs the butt of his rapier against Soonyoung forehead, knocking him out again.

“That’s a bit harsh,” Chan comments. Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“Please. You were about to punch him in the face.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Soonyoung huffs defiantly. Chan’s shoulder droops, a look of confusion and heartbroken flashing through his eyes as he stares at Soonyoung pacing back and forth on the airship foyer. Chan looks over the Wonwoo, who refuses to meet his eyes. He’s quietly stirring his tea, lips pursed as he and Soonyoung meet eyes. A silent argument passes between them, one that Soonyoung evidently lost, if his growl-sigh hybrid is anything to judge from. Chan leans over to Seungkwan, eyes lost as Seungkwan gives him an indecisive shrug. Chan bites his bottom lip, inching towards Seungkwan before Soonyoung’s temper bursts. Wonwoo stares at Soonyoung with firm determination, softening around the edges once Soonyoung gives up.

“We need to honour his wishes, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo points out. Soonyoung glares at him, twitching his nose.

“No one should get the ability to reverse any part of the war, and especially not  _ that _ battle. Do you know how many more would pass if the general didn’t go? You were with him when Hansol fired off his last shot, and you know exactly how hopeless it was to fight him,” Soonyoung explodes, fire rolling down his arms. Chan glances into the kitchen, where a third figure watches Wonwoo and Soonyoung with rapt attention. His hand taps slowly on the kitchen island, ready to defuse the situation when necessary.

“But that’s the whole point. It’s not like Chan’s just going to stop looking for ways to reverse what happened, and giving him this chance at least lets Hansol tailor what he learns along the way to discourage him,” Wonwoo replies calmly, although his grip on his tea mug is tightening so hard, his knuckles are turning white. Chan stares at them with a pit of guilt in his stomach. Seungkwan must have noticed his expression, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Chan glances at him with guilt in his eyes, nervously biting his bottom lip. It’s his fault they’re arguing in the first place, unable to forget about Hansol. The worst part was that Wonwoo is completely correct, and Chan can’t help but feel the knot in his stomach tighten.

“He’s still got the trigger! What if someone steals it from him? Use it to alter the course of the war?” Soonyoung raises his voice, his red hair firing up like the seagull he tries to shoot down with flames earlier. Wonwoo doesn’t so much as flinch, resting his spoon against the side of his mug with a soft clink as he takes a sip. Chan watches Soonyoung stare at Wonwoo in anger, flames licking his chin as his eyes twitch. Wonwoo’s just good at pissing him off.

“In the end, it’s not in our position to intervene, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo presses, emphasizing on Soonyoung’s name. Soonyoung’s eyes harden, the corners sharpening as the anger finally boils over. He takes a step forward, but before Soonyoung can fully explode, a cascade of ice fires at him, trapping his limbs and extinguishing his limbs as the third person pops out from the kitchen. He pats Wonwoo gently on the shoulder, and Chan finally notices how tense Wonwoo’s shoulders were. Then, he turns to Chan and Seungkwan with a pacifying grin on his face.

“We’ll digress about actually giving you the clue later. For now, you’re coming with us,” Junhui explains calmly. Chan frowns.

“You’re just going to kidnap me?” Chan asks in a monotone voice. Wonwoo snorts, nearly choking on his tea as Soonyoung’s ice block slowly melts. Junhui ponders the statement for a second, turning towards Wonwoo.

“He can come, right? So we can do what Hansol wanted before Soonyoung kicks him off the ship?” Junhui asks. Wonwoo nods.

“Sounds like a plan,” Wonwoo sighs.

Chan found Soonyoung shooting stray storm spirits out of the air on the deck the next morning. Soonyoung’s snugly fit aviator jacket looks tiny on him, seemingly restricting Soonyoung’s movements. The lieutenants back in the army would have shredded the jacket, but Soonyoung’s captain of the ship here. (In theory, Chan can hear Junhui correct him because Wonwoo’s the only one keeping the operation afloat). Chan narrowly dodges a stray fireball, teleporting an incoming storm spirit to the other side of the ship for Soonyoung when it tries to dive at the ship. Soonyoung nearly gets hit by one, his back turned to it as it comes in for an attack. Chan pulls out his moon blades, curved circlets of silver moonstones and channels his magic into two energy blasts, slicing the spirits in half as he teleports next to Soonyoung. Soonyoung flinches when he sees Chan, nearly decapitating Chan with his double-bladed sword. Chan ducks under the swing, watching as Soonyoung blink in recognition, a hair above Chan’s head.

A storm spirit nearly puts him out of it, and Chan summons up a large portal and whisks the storm spirits to a faraway space, letting the ship outrun them before they can find their bearings again. Chan heaves a sigh, reaching his hands up into the sky and stretching, feeling the bones on his neck crack. Soonyoung snorts at him.

“If you’re already going old, what does that make me,” Soonyoung teases. Chan laughs easily, flicking his blades up and letting the mechanisms retract them into two neat rings around his pinkies. Soonyoung sheathes his blade, tucking it behind his waist as he waves Chan over to the bench on the deck of the airship, near the glass window that surrounds the cabin. The beige fabric wings of the ship flutter in the wind, giant metal rods shifting with each careful tilt of the stabilizer. The bronze coating on the ship sheens in the sunlight, a beautiful golden hue reflecting onto Soonyoung’s face as he slouches against the bench, staring at the wispy strands in the sky. Chan watches him with curiosity. The Soonyoung he had always known was a hot-tempered, overexcitable unit leader who led Chan and two others on various espionage missions, known on the tabloids as ‘the wild card who keeps getting gagged by his teammates’. The Soonyoung Chan knew dreamed of seeing the world and becoming the first person in Jin-Li to map it out, using all of his savings to buy an airship. According to what Junhui told him, Wonwoo had to chip in after finding out Soonyoung could afford absolutely none of it. Apparently, Wonwoo had an inheritance with two lifetime’s worth of money to spend, and Junhui just kind of got pulled into the whole spiel because Wonwoo and Soonyoung would tear each other's throats out otherwise. The Soonyoung Chan sees now looks forward to his dreams with every fibre of his being, but there’s a weary shadow on his face Chan hopes will heal with time. The scar over his left ear is covered with a large device, one of Minghao’s inventions, to keep his sharp hearing. Soonyoung used to be a dancer, proud of his ability to hear even the subtlest of beats. The war had scarred him, the  _ alium  _ from the enemy side slicing a dagger over his left ear. His balance was never the same afterwards.

“War takes things from us, Chan,” Soonyoung breaks the silence, staring off into the distance. Chan wonders if he’s talking about his ear, or something else. Soonyoung turns to Chan, a troubled look of sympathy on his face.

“I know,” Chan replies softly, “but we can get some of it back.”

Soonyoung purses his lips, staring at the clouds. “But at what cost? Would you rather be plunged into the war again?”

Chan shakes his head defiantly. “Hansol already got the time bomb off. If only I could teleport him away last minute, he’ll be fine, and the general won’t come back,” Chan insists. Soonyoung shakes his head.

“It doesn’t work like that, Chan. You can’t use a fraction of time that was probably half a second to save someone. You’ll end up taking the general with him, or risking yourself along the way,” Soonyoung’s voice starts to rise, the edge of his voice coated with some kind of bitterness. Chan stares at him with anger.

“You saved Jihoon like that, didn’t you? Pulled him out of his own shadow prison before he could take the others with him. Saved him, even if Jihoon was knocked out after,” Chan points out. Soonyoung shakes his head.

“The others didn’t finish their descent, and I messed up the entire operation, Chan,” Soonyoung growls.

“You saved everyone,” Chan points out.

“And I put half of the  _ alium _ subdivision out of commission. I’ve got my scar and three months off-duty to show for it, Chan. We nearly lost if it weren’t for Hansol,” Soonyoung growls.

Chan falters, not knowing what to say. A lump forms in his throat, remembering Junhui’s insistence to not mention Jihoon around Soonyoung. He’s unstable, Junhui pointed out. Wonwoo and Junhui can only do so much to keep him from unravelling into the dark depths of guilt. Not even embarking on his life’s dream can bury the memory of that battle. Chan sends a silent apology to Junhui, pulling out Jihoon’s notebook. Soonyoung’s gaze flickers to the book, making out the title before averting his gaze. Chan opens up the page, flipping to the page with Jihoon’s last song. A letter, Jihoon described it.

“Jihoon wanted you to have something,” Chan brings up, trying to sound casual. Soonyoung makes an uninterested grunt, probably not trusting his voice to betray him. Chan swallows nervously.

“It’s a letter, of sorts,” Chan mumbles, “more like a song. He said he wanted to sing it for you, but he’s not getting discharged for another three weeks or so, and you’ll have left the country by then.”

Soonyoung doesn’t respond. Chan sighs, glancing at him.

“I know you don’t want me to find Hansol, but at least you got a chance to say goodbye. If I can’t—” Chan chokes, the lump in his throat pouring into a choked sob. “If I can’t save him, I want to at least see him one last time.”

Soonyoung finally turns to Chan now, and Chan notices the red outline around his eyes. Puffy, red, tear-stained. Chan sees the pain in his eyes, the regret and yearning, and Chan wonders if he did the wrong thing bringing Jihoon up. Soonyoung gingerly takes the notebook from Chan’s hand, closing it shut silently and standing up. Chan watches him with rapt attention, biting his bottom lip in anticipation.

“I trust you’ll make the right decision when it comes time, Chan,” is all Soonyoung says, walking off the deck. Chan furrows his brow in confusion, about to chase after Soonyoung when he notices a piece of paper Soonyoung left behind. Chan pauses, picking up the familiar page and grips it gingerly, not sure he wants to know where to go next now. Even if he could save Hansol, should he?

“You okay?” Seungkwan’s voice cuts into Chan’s train of thought. Chan swallows, eyes hardening. Of course, he should. But staring at Seungkwan now, knowing full well if Hansol’s sacrifice was delayed like Soonyoung tried to delay Jihoon’s, someone else will have to pay the price. Chan’s eyes well up with tears, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind tells him to stay firm anyway. Maybe there won’t have to be a sacrifice.

“I’m okay,” Chan says, although his voice is quivering. Seungkwan gives him a look that could only mean he doesn’t believe Chan, walking over to him and pulling Chan into a hug.

“We’ll see this to the end, yeah? Make your choice then.”

Chan hiccups. “C-could you do it? I-I don’t think I can right now,” Chan mumbles, half in tears. Seungkwan nods, taking the paper from Chan and flipping it open, clearing his throat.

“When you said you engraved my name in your heart. Remember why my eyes grew so big,” Seungkwan reads aloud. Chan wipes the tears off his face, memories of a foregone time filling his head. He turns to Seungkwan, meeting his gaze.

“A trip back to Kangwon Academy it is, I guess,” Chan mumbles. Seungkwan nods, a hopeful smile on his face, although Chan can’t tell if it's genuine or just for Chan. Could he do it, when it comes to? He’ll find Hansol again, no matter how far away, following this trail of clues he left, and Chan can finally see Hansol again.

“I’ll tell Wonwoo about the detour.”

A few hours before touching down at Kangwon, Wonwoo cornered Chan in the guest bunk. Chan expects some grilling for Soonyoung’s new level of emotional instability (Chan saw him pour orange juice into his cereal and flicked it up to his nose, all while looking like he was going to cry), but Wonwoo just gives him a gentle hair ruffle, tucking a pager into an aviator jacket and slinging it over Chan’s shoulder. Chan stares at him, confusion on his face as Wonwoo plops himself onto the bottom bunk, which Seungkwan had fussed over just that morning. The blanket crumples at the disturbance and Chan tries to hide his smile, thinking about Seungkwan’s flushed cheeks in worry of accidentally not seeming like a good guest.

“Call us up if you need to get out of Jin-Li,” Wonwoo tells him after they sit in palpable silence for what seems like an eternity. Chan wonders if Soonyoung’s driving the airship right now, or if Wonwoo trusts the faulty autopilot system onboard over Soonyoung. He decides not to ask.

“If anything,” Chan retorts, “I’ll be calling you three back once Jihoon’s discharge news comes through.” Wonwoo shrugs, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glances over at Chan. He’s got his glasses on today, a smudge of what must be airship oil on his left cheek. His leather jacket is dusted with black soot as if Wonwoo’s been spending all morning in the engine room. Chan wonders how he got past inspector/mother Junhui, seeing as he got an apple in his hand and Junhui barely ever leaves the kitchen.

“Junnie’s supervising Soonyoung on controls,” Wonwoo explains, catching Chan’s expression. Chan mouths a soft ‘ah’, nodding as he imagines Soonyoungyelling at the ship to move faster as Junhui tries to pacify him with cookies and warm milk. Wonwoo sits up, propping himself up with his arm as he stares at Chan. Chan shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, not sure what to do. He picks at a stray thread on his pants, sheepishly averting his gaze.

“You’ve changed, haven’t you,” Wonwoo asks quietly, although it’s more of a statement. Chan bites his bottom lip.

“In a good way?” Chan asks, tentatively raising his head. Wonwoo shrugs, kicking off his boots and swinging his legs onto the bed.

“Depends how you want to look at it,” Wonwoo begins, gesturing to the jacket draped on Chan’s shoulders. Chan finally recognizes it as Soonyoung, the one that always seemed to swallow his thin frame whenever he tried it on. It still does, yet somehow, it’s comfortably rested on his shoulder blades too.

“You’ve grown into a guardian,” Wonwoo points out, gesturing at the badge of heroes the whole unit (at least, what was left of the unit) received from the Prime Minister after the war. Chan bites his bottom lip, thinking of all the people he couldn’t save, and the badge feels like a heavy burden instead.

“But you’re also tired, aren’t you?” Wonwoo asks. Chan averts his gaze, staring at a blank spot on the bed. He wonders if later on when someone is telling the great tale of Lee Chan, will they remember scenes like these. Not the bright, optimistic portal master of Unit Seventeen, but the life-beaten wanderer Wonwoo’s confronting now. Perhaps the other story would have been more interesting, seeing the heart-skipping action and budding romance that never found a neat ending. But then again, that story’s happy ending left more open holes than suitable for a sequel, and Chan would prefer to keep the exciting part of his life as a memory.

“You have Junnie and Soonie, with Jihoon coming soon, and everyone else has someone to spend the rest of time with,” Chan starts, emotions cluttering together like a million butterflies swarming in his chest. Chan bites his bottom lip, hesitant to continue. Wonwoo stays silent.

“Heck, even Seungkwan’s found a calling to keep his life interesting for the time being, helping Jin-Li recover and everything,” Chan continues, chuckling to himself. He sits up, grabbing his ankles and stretching as he turns to meet Wonwoo’s gaze. Slightly hesitant, with a dash of pity. Chan hates pity. Never feels genuine.

“After this whole hunt, I don’t even know what I’m going to do. It’s like… I’m just here. It doesn’t matter what I do,” Chan whispers, voice small. Everything clicks in place, and it feels like a million puzzle pieces just slotted themselves into a perfect picture of despair and loss. Chan’s not quite on this quest for Hansol, but for himself. Maybe that’s why this sequel stays so unattractive, sounding selfish and ungrateful. Chan doesn’t care at this point.

Wonwoo pats Chan’s hair gently with his non-dirty hand, pitiful smile turning into an empathetic line, neutral yet inexplicably comforting. He’s not trying to comfort Chan or give him advice. Supposedly, that’s what made Chan fall for Hansol in the first place. He never tried to tell Chan anything, just allowing him to the imperfect human he is.

“You’ll find a way, Chan,” Wonwoo mumbles, hand dropping to Chan’s shoulder as he squeezes him reassuringly.

“You’re here because you mattered enough for someone to try and save you.”

Junhui ended up escorting Chan and Seungkwan to the alium base in Kangwon, although Chan has a sneaking suspicion Wonwoo pushed him out with a specific intent for Junhui to let him beat some sense into Soonyoung. He’s lovely like that.

Junhui insisted on dragging them through every nook and cranny of the multi-level maze-like Kangwon marketplace in search of a good housewarming gift for the other aliums at the base. They contacted the base before arriving for security clearance and whatnot, but instead of going through with procedures, Jisoo spent nearly an hour fussing over Soonyoung and Wonwoo. Junhui, ever the peace-loving pacifist, made a compromise to make dinner for everyone on board the airship before they leave. Jisoo had reluctantly agreed, probably noticing Wonwoo’s and Soonyoung’s palpable tension. Jisoo was nosy like that, as Unit Seventeen’s overprotective emotional support.

In the marketplace, the air was filled with a jovial atmosphere, the hints of the aftermath of a festival strewn about in the colourful streamers that are being swept away. Stalls are filled with happy yet tired people, all bearing a wide smile on their face. A kid runs past Chan, nearly bumping into him. The kid stops in his track, whipping his head around in a flustered rush of apologies. Chan smiles easily, bending down to reach the boy’s eye level to reassure him. The little boy’s head is still bowed in a deep apology, slowly lifting only when Chan gives him a reassuring pat on the back. The boy’s eyes widen almost immediately upon meeting Chan’s eyes, mouth hanging agape as shock colours his features. Chan nervously glances at Seungkwan for help, who’s whipping his head back and forth between Junhui chatting with a stall lady and Chan. Then, he grins and leaves Chan to deal with a starstruck child. The bastard.

“My brother told me about you!” the boy starts brightening up, recognition filling his adoring eyes. Chan freezes, not sure how to respond as he licks his lips. The boy barrels on regardless.

“You were the one who saved him and his squad from the bombing in Windam!” the boy excitedly vibrates. Chan’s shoulder droops in relief, glad to know it wasn’t about something bad. Still, embarrassment colours his cheeks red. Chan gives the boy a sheepish smile.

“Ah, that…” Chan begins, voice small in embarrassment, “...anyone would have done that. We were all trying to escape before they hit, so it was natural for me to help someone along the way,” Chan mumbles, more to himself. The little boy cocks his head in confusion, frowning.

“My brother said he was stuck under a gigantic block of debris, and you and another person spent nearly half an hour pulling him out! And then there was his squad captain, who had all of his limbs blown off, and you didn’t leave him behind either!” the boy retorts vigorously. Chan shrugs, curling in on himself. The boy’s tone kept rising, attracting attention from the surrounding passersby. One woman started whispering to her companion, eyes widening in awe as she gestured to Chan. Chan looks over to Seungkwan, eyes screaming for help. Seungkwan just shrugs, smiling as he ignores Chan.

“We don’t leave people behind in my unit,” Chan decides to tell the boy, hoping to calm him. The boy’s face splits into a wide smile, turning around. Chan hopes it means he’s leaving.

“Guys!” the boy starts yelling, waving at another group of boys, “this is the guy who saved Minsung! Come look!”

Chan groans internally, pressing a hard glare into Seungkwan's back. He can practically see his shit-eating grin.

“No way! Is he the teleporting one?” one of the boys yells back, attracting even more attention. The scattered attention of the entire square seems to converge on Chan, with people of all ages and sizes turning to him with starstruck gazes. Chan shrinks at the attention. He joined the war to save people, not for the attention.

“Isn’t that Lee Chan? The poster boy for the thirty-second draft?” one of the voices finds its wind to Chan. Chan glances towards the source, not finding anyone. Someone sneaks up on him, gasping loudly as Chan turns to the voice. It’s a girl, covering her mouth with a gasp as tears prick at the corner of her eyes. Chan flinches in surprise.

“Thank you so much,” she blurts out, voice cracking in her tears, “for saving my fiancé. He’s still in the hospital, but you gave us so much hope.”

Chan falters, not sure how to respond. A crowd starts to form around him, gushing and calling for his attention. Chan whips his head to where Junhui and Seungkwan was, but neither is at the stall anymore. Someone shoves a pad of paper into Chan’s face, asking for an autograph. Another lady gives him a skewer of sausages, and Chan grabs it before he even registers her words. Someone else yells for his attention and Chan turns to them with lost eyes. The crowd starts rising in excitement and surely Junhui and Seungkwan have heard by now.  _ Save me please _ , Chan screams in his head, trying to look for a way to escape.

Suddenly, a loud noise rings across the square, something similar to a piece of steel being grated on a piece of stone. Chan winces, covering his ears as shrieks of pain rings through the air. He peeks open an eye, watching as the crowd parts. A shadow passes through them, parting the people like a knife through warm butter. Chan stares at the approaching figure, holding his finger onto his rings as he tenses up. In his mind, escape routes start forming, thinking of the best place to bring a fight to avoid a fight. He spares a glance to the left, spotting a section of the square with little to no people. Surely they’ll be wary enough to leave once he pulls the enemy there, right? Chan hopes so.

The figure approaches, the sound of a sword sheathing into its holster ringing in the air, and Chan relaxes his posture along with it. Perhaps it’s one of the cocky ones, just wanting to talk. The last curtain of people steps out of the way, curious looks on their faces as they try to peek at the figure. There’s a hood over his head, covering his eyes as green energy flickers on his figure. Chan draws a shaky breath, furrowing his brow as he tries to scan the figure in front of him, to no avail. Suddenly, a pang of recognition hits him, and Chan sucks in a breath. He smiles, getting down on one knee and bowing his head low.

“Captain,” Chan breathes, and the crowd dissolves into murmurs. The figure flicks his hood back, revealing two sharp, glowing green eyes and features sharp as a knife’s edge. He smiles, bending down to pat Chan’s shoulder before turning to the crowd.

“Disperse. Nothing to see here, everyone,” Seungcheol’s voice rings over the square, and the people slowly follows his order. As soon as they turn to leave, Chan glances up and finds Seungcheol’s face change completely from the scary peacekeeper of Kangwon into a kicked puppy.

“Why do all of you keep doing the kneeling thing,” he whines, holding out a hand to help Chan up. Chan takes it, a grin spreading on his face as he jumps into a tackle hug on Seungcheol. Out of the corner of his eyes, Seungkwan and Junhui emerge from a tiny shop for herbs, carrying a big bag as they look around for Chan. Chan waves to them, sticking his tongue out at Seungkwan when they meet eyes, and Junhui’s eyes widen with joy at the sight of Seungcheol too. They end up tackling Seungcheol with three bodies, all clinging to him as concerned looks are passed around from the passerby. Seungcheol waves them all off.

“You on duty?” Seungkwan asks Seungcheol after he shakes them all off. Seungcheol nods, pulling his hood over his head.

“Yeah. I’ll come with you back to the base. Soo’s worrying himself half to death,” Seungcheol replies, Junhui joining his side as they start to navigate the marketplace, probably talking about dinner. Chan stares at Seungcheol’s back in wonder, amazed at how easy his smile is, and how big his heart remains. Loyal to a fault, Choi Seungcheol led Unit Seventeen to victory in the war, seeing many of his friends lose their lives along the way. Chan remembers Jihoon telling him about a separate unit he and Seungcheol were in, under the name ‘Project Tempest’. Supposedly, Seungcheol’s old friends left that unit one by one, retiring from the army after they took a loss. Seungcheol took on Seventeen afterwards, not any bit easier with thirteen equally suicidal adrenaline-driven boys. One important loss hit Chan hard enough, Chan wonders how Seungcheol feels with so many important people to him falling. Contrary to emotional Soonyoung, Seungcheol seems almost… carefree. Like he’s just grateful to be alive.

Seungkwan falls next to Chan, bumping their shoulders together lightly. Chan turns to him, finding a small look of concern as Seungkwan gives him a light pat on the shoulder.

“What’s on your mind?” Seungkwan asks. Chan shrugs.

“Best ways to kill you in your sleep,” Chan mumbles back, deflecting. Seungkwan laughs at the comment.

“Please, you’ve said that for years. You love me too much for that,” Seungkwan teases. Chan shrugs, grin on his face as they push through the crowd of people streaming through the marketplace. They duck under an alleyway at some point, following Junhui’s nose for some Jin-Li coastal vegetables. Seungcheol tries to grill Junhui for what’s on dinner, but Junhui just turns him away like a chastising mother shooing her kids from the pie on the window. A sprig of rosemary flies at Chan’s face, swaying back to its place after Seungkwan flicks the hanging tendril of herbs at Chan. Chan sticks his tongue out at Seungkwan, scrunching his nose in distaste. Seungkwan grins back.

“Remember when Junhui dragged us out to the ramen place the night before his technical exam?” Seungkwan murmurs to Chan as they duck under wild swaying clumps of garlic. Too many hanging things in this shop. A grin tugs at Chan’s lips.

“Remember when Minghao nearly whacked him upside the head with a book when he tried to wake him up at 2 AM?” Chan says, giggling. Seungkwan snorts, getting Junhui’s attention from the front. Chan waves him away.

“You ate so much you missed the first the next day,” Seungkwan mused with amusement. Chan rolls his eyes at the memory, flicking Seungkwan’s shoulder.

“Says the one who bombed his geography exam catching up on sleep. You drooled over the paper and Mr. Kim circled it and said it smelled like ramen,” Chan retorts. Seungkwan’s cheeks flush red, his hand smacking Chan on the back as a pout takes over his face.

“Mr. Kim hated me,” Seungkwan mumbles. Chan rolls his eyes.

“He hated everyone. You’re not special.”

They bicker all the way from the market to the alium base, passing by the Kangwon Academy for Gifted Aliums, where Chan remembers spending four years doing things most teenagers should not have to go through. Wartime is a terrible experience, after all. Chan sucks in a breath at the sight of the Kangwon alium base, the second biggest base in Jin-Li after the one at the Capital. Large, bluish-purple spirals of vines line the front of the base, hiding weaponized flower turrets under their grasp. The actual building is a cream white, resembling more of a fancy manor with a gigantic flag of Jin-Li hanging from the top. Three levels of large windows line almost every corner of the building’s side, tinted black for privacy on the outside and clear from the inside. Seungcehol leads them through the security pass, where everyone got a shock of surprise when they found out Junhui’s biodata still worked, 3 months after he left the army. Seungcheol told them the army let Unit Seventeen keep this base as their main active base, as they’ve got the largest number of active members at 10, so Jisoo probably just decided against deleting his old friend’s biodata.

As soon as Chan stepped inside the base, a loud crash echoed from the side of the base, where the power generators are. The lights flicker once, thankfully still staying lit. Chan turns to the source of the noise, senses put into high alert as Junhui and Seungkwan join him. Seungcheol, on the other hand, just sighs.

“Is he here already?” Seungcheol mumbles to himself. Chan’s eyebrows raise in confusion. From behind the grand staircase, a figure emerges from one of the side rooms, face contorted in frustration as he runs to the windows and throws it open, cupping his hands and starting to yell.

“Kim Mingyu I swear I will kick you out if you keep on overloading the generator in training!” Jisoo yells outside. Chan flinches at the volume, turning to Seungcheol in confusion. Seungcheol sighs, walking over to calm Jisoo down.

“Why do you have a lightning rod here?! I can only aim it so far!” Mingyu yells back, and Chan can practically see a strand of gray hair threading through Jisoo’s dark blue hair, his veins nearly popping. Chan glances over at Seungkwan, silently asking if they should intervene. Seungkwan shrugs, while Junhui just stares awkwardly.

Seungcheol clears his throat. “Soo,” he calls out, although there’s a hint of fondness to his voice Chan’s never quite heard before. Chan turns to Seungkwan, making a face. Seungkwan returns the sentiment, evidently sniffing out something. Jisoo flinches, turning around with his face still bunched up in frustration. At the sight of Chan and the others, his face shifts into relief and excitement, running to them. Chan braces himself for the hug, being lifted into the air as Jisoo squeezes the life out of Chan.

“Ribs,” Chan chokes out. Jisoo lets him down, patting his hair down as his eyes curve into his half-moon eye smile.

“It’s only been three months, Jisoo,” Seungkwan points out, before being attacked by a hug too. They exchange some whispers as if Seungkwan’s carrying something important. Chan frowns, before brushing it off. Jisoo probably just gave him some sappy words. Subunit bonds or whatever.

“Exactly! It’s been three whole months!” Jisoo chastises, turning to Junhui who expertly goes for the first hug and manages not to be choked half to death.

“Where’s the other two?” Jisoo asks. Junhui shrugs.

“They needed some time,” Junhui explains. Jisoo rolls his eyes.

“Those two will be at each other’s throats by now,” Jisoo mumbles, eyeing the three bags of food in Junhui’s hands. Then he claps his hands together, clearly making up his mind about… something.

“Cheol? Why don’t you come with Junhui back to the airship? I’ll help these two unpack for the next few nights,” Jisoo calls. Seungcheol nods, following his orders like the whipped puppy that he is. Chan glances at Seungkwan, passing a silent agreement to discuss later.

As soon as Junhui and Seungcheol leave, Jisoo’s smile becomes sad as he turns back to Chan and Seungkwan. He stares at Chan with an expression of sympathy, pursing his lips in thought before patting Chan’s hair gently.

“You’re here for the note, aren’t you?” Jisoo sighs. Chan nods, feeling terrible for disappointing Jisoo. Seungkwan pats Chan’s lower back comfortingly.

“Well,” Jisoo says, shrugging lightly, “I suggest you do some walking around town while you’re here. Hansol loved Kangwon to bits.”

Chan glances out the side window, staring at the big, tall building that is Kangwon Academy, wondering how the new generation of peacekeepers is doing. Probably procrastinating homework by training, if his four years are anything to judge by. Life was simpler back then.

“Cheol’s doing a guest segment tomorrow afternoon,” Jisoo interrupts Chan’s thoughts, pulling back to the present. Chan raises a curious eyebrow.

“At the academy?” Chan asks. Seungkwan scoffs next to him, rolling his eyes.

“No, in the marketplace. Of course, it’s at the academy,” Seungkwan mumbles, crossing his arms. Chan’s cheeks flush, turning to him with a huff as Jisoo’s giggle interrupts their petty squabble. Chan turns to him, cocking his head.

“You two never change, do you?” Jisoo muses, smiling to himself.

Chan woke up the next morning to the lovely experience of being decapitated by a pillow by Seungkwan. With a muffled cry, Chan kicked Seungkwan away and pulled the blanket over his body again, taking the initiative to sleep more. Seungkwan smacked him with the pillow again, grabbing his blanket and throwing it off and Chan swore it was like he’s back at the Academy again.

“We’re gonna be late!” Seungkwan screamed in Chan’s ears. Chan cracks an eye open.

“Isn’t it at one?” Chan mumbled groggily.

“It’s noon, genius! Let’s go!”

After that, Chan was promptly shoved off his bed.

He later learned (not five minutes after) that it’s actually only nine in the morning, and spends a total of five minutes death glaring Seungkwan as Jisoo stuffed them with pancakes. Seungcheol’s already off at the academy, running a training section for the fourth-years while his plus-ones (plus-two? Chan’s not sure) were busy arguing over the better way to stab a pancake.

Jisoo chased them out of the base about half an hour later, resembling an overprotective mother before strapping his stuff on to head off for guard duty. Mingyu met up with them on the way out, although it was more of a ‘Chan saw him zip by with a simple bye before Mingyu to do something in town’ than a normal conversation. Chan insisted they get ice cream before heading to deal with the horrid children, and Seugkwan glared at him for calling people about a decade younger than him non-existent. (they’re too tiny! Chan argues).

Which brings them to now, standing at the ice cream store two blocks from the academy, debating if they should get the whole combo of 6 scoops of Neapolitan, or just one each. It’s oddly mundane, as if Chan and Seungkwan are simply rowdy teenagers ready to dissolve their hard-earned friendship over ice cream choice. The old lady who works at the stand is the same one from nearly a decade ago, still selling homemade ice cream and fish buns for the aliums in training. She gives them a motherly smile, interrupting Seungkwan’s and Chan’s civil debate as it starts to get loud enough to attract attention.

“Where is that other boy that’s always with you two? You two seem to be in much less of a happy mood today,” the old lady asks. Chan flinches, frozen as glances at Seungkwan nervously. Seungkwan gives him a soft pat on the shoulder.

“He didn’t make it,” Seungkwan tells the lady solemnly, and she accepts it with a sympathetic ‘oh’. She disappears behind the counter, pooling out two bars of the melon ice cream bars Chan remembers used to be their celebratory good test score snacks because of how expensive it was. Hansol almost always was the one to pay it, as the one with the largest allowance of the three. Chan came from the poor countryside and Seungkwan from the islands to the south where his parents could barely send him to Kangwon. Hansol was the only one with the luxury of buying Melon Bars. (Chan winces internally at having to remember him in the past tense, hating the way it sounded in his mine. He tries to keep the memories happy regardless) The lady smiles at their dumbfounded gapes, gesturing for them to take it.

“They’re not for free, but you boys looked like you could use it,” she says cheerfully, and that’s what snaps Seungkwan out of his daze. Seungkwan hands her the money, their new job more than adequately covering the expenses of Melon Bars. They walk to the academy afterwards, and Chan stares at his Melon Bar with a twist in his stomach.

“Do you think it’ll get better with time?” Chan asks Seungkwan. Seungkwan pauses, his mouth half-open with a piece of ice cream dangling between his stick and mouth. He finishes biting, chewing as he ponders Chan's question for a total of two seconds before shrugging.

“I don’t know,” Seungkwan answers truthfully. Chan wonders how Seungkwan can be so unaffected. He loved Hansol basically as much as Chan did, albeit platonically. He took the loss hard too, and Chan remembers the first few nights after  _ that _ battle was just them trying their hardest not to believe the truth. Seungkwan broke the third night, sobbing as Chan let the fact sink in for another week or so. He changed, in subtle ways. Less of the calm and calculated fighter that saved Chan’s head-on charges, more of the cold and ruthless killer Unit Seventeen never had the reputation for. Chan remembers the last night they spent at Windam, quietly staring at the constellations in the sky and wondering which one Hansol would make it to. One of the zodiacs, so he could look over his sign? Or maybe Centaurus, so he could be as close to Earth as possible. They decided on none of them, deeming that Hansol probably found a way back to Earth as some kind of spirit looking out for his friends and family because Hansol’s the kind of guardian that never stopped being a guardian.

They slip into the school without any student spotting them, following four years of muscle memory to the gym. The school’s just as big as Chan remembers it to be, the clean white marble floor with the magically enhanced willow tree trunks acting as supports. Chan remembers some idiot in his year trying to set fire to the trunks, only to get a face full of tree sap instead. The gym has a class of sophomores learning about the final, and probably the hardest part of their year. Chan and Seungkwan silently creak the door open, slipping in under the cover of loud bangs and blades meeting dagger-pistol hybrids. Weapons are just getting weirder and weirder these days.

“Rely on your team! Look out for not just your flanks, but others as well!” Seungcheol’s voice rings over the gym air, his tone commanding yet gentle as he shrugged off someone’s attempt at jumping on him. Seungcheol swings his sword in a wide arc, stopping mere inches before a student's throat before flicking his left hand up as a signal. The group of three students groan, evidently failing something. Seungcheol gives them an encouraging smile, helping the student he knocked off up. In the crowd watching, someone’s arm shot up.

“But just looking out for yourself is easier than watching others too, sir! It’s not a fair fight!” One of the girls in the crowd protests. Seungcheol sheaths his sword, dusting off his hands before looking past the girl, a smile on his face.

“Ms. Park is right, that fight wasn’t exactly fair, even though it is more realistic. In order for you to properly see a team that works well together, I will raise you all a challenge,” Seungcheol announces, gesturing at Chan and Seungkwan, standing at the back of the gym, just barely entering the room. Chan sighs, hardening his glare at Seungcheol. Seungkwan, on the other hand, chuckles lightly and stands at attention for Seungcheol’s orders.

“The whole class against two of our best strikers,” Seungcheol announces, stepping out of the lines drawn on the floor to mark the battlefield, raising his hand to gesture for them to hold. Chan glances at Seungkwan, sighing as they surrender to their fate. He nearly takes the position they’d use for trios, perfected after hours in the training rooms at the Academy. Their third member is missing, screwing that plan. Seungkwan stands back to back with Chan, as the rest of the students slowly circling them. There’s about twenty or so, with unknown alium gifts and a vigour Chan is all too familiar with. He used to be these headstrong dreamers.

Chan exhales, sliding his rings off into his moon blades and grins at the approaching students. He can hear Seungkwan pulling his rapier out of its holster, his knees instinctively bending to lower his center of gravity. Seungkwan taps Chan’s knuckles twice, drawing a line to his left, gesturing to their first target. A girl, holding a fan on each hand. A secret weapon. They’ll need to figure her out first, having a weapon that tells less about her fighting style. Chan glances at Seungcheol, who gives him one last grin before closing his fist, signalling the fight to start.

The students made the first attack.

One of the boys clenched his fist and pointed them at Chan, something in his suit shifting. Chan preemptively jumps to the side, one slight tap on Seungkwan’s knuckles to let him know. A beam of energy soars between them, narrowly whizzing past his ear before Chan twists to dodge it. A dark shadow passes over him, a small grin under a veil of dark purple descending onto Chan as he shoots a small ball of energy behind the figure. A millisecond before the figure makes contact, Chan swings up and slams into the figure’s side, activating his blade in a blade of collected energy and shedding the figure’s shadow cloak. Then, he pops out of attacking range, grabbing onto the banisters as he swings himself onto the beams. Almost immediately, two boys charge at him, wearing some wacky gear with stickers on them with pictures of various war heroes. Fanboys, they seem to be, who have some kind of air quirk, judging from the fact that they’re floating. Chan glances at the floor, where about a dozen students are striking Seungkwan at once, concentrating blasts into his wall of solid air. His expression remains unimpressed, rapier raised over his head to channel the wall and push away their attacks. The superbeam guy gears up for another shot, this one sure to penetrate Seungkwan’s wall. Seungkwan stares straight at him in a challenge. Chan throws one of his moon blades at the advancing duo converging on his position, knowing they’ll dodge it before long as he throws a portal ball at Seungkwan’s shield. He then curls into a ball, letting his body fall as he flings the other one towards the superbeam boy. A student launches some kind of shrapnel at him, and moments before it collides, an invisible wall stops it in mid-air and Chan starts to float. A wide superbeam swings a wide arc around the whole room, knocking out five of the students as Chan clenches his fist, activating the mechanism on his rings to pull the moon blades back. They bring back one of the two boys, which Chan flings to the ground with enough force to put him out. He lands on the gym floor with light steps, immediately jumping up as a fan flies out of nowhere, threatening to chop his head off. Chan grins, shooting a short energy blast at the fan to put it out of action as Seungkwan slides next to him.

“They're getting better every year, aren’t they?” Seungkwan calls out. Chan laughs, tossing a portal ball into the air and grabbing Seungkwan’s wrist, teleporting them across the room as another hurl of shrapnel flies at them. Chan narrows his eyes at the source, a small petite girl with a gigantic gun, pieces of the ground floating behind her. Seungkwan swipes a short line on Chan’s shoulder, swinging his rapier in a wide arc at seemingly nothing, stopping millimetres next to Chan. A choked cry rings in the air, and Chan kicks at the general vicinity of Seungkwan’s swing and collides with a figure. Invisibility is always annoying.

The girl with the fans throws her two weapons at them again, trying to get a clear shot as Seungkwan blows it in the opposite direction with a funnel of air. Chan slams his moon blades into the ground, pulsing energy through the ground as a wall of air surrounds him. A massive portal opens from underneath the remaining students as Chan pulls them through, spitting them out against each other in the world’s most dangerous game of pinball. Seungkwan aims his rapier at the line of disgruntled students, blasting a focused stream of air as he slams the rest of the class into the wall. Chan straightens, surveying the room in a quick headcount with the invisible person in mind. He comes up one short, about to turn around to face Seungkwan when Seungkwan takes off, raising his rapier in a defensive stance as the guy who tried to meet Chan in the air earlier meets the blade with his fist, a wild look in his eyes. Chan follows through the parry, pushing the boy back as his blades cut off the gigantic gloves on the guy’s fists. Seungkwan kicks him one last time and the force of air that follows through slams the final student to the ground.

Chan exhales, catching his breath as he slides his blades back into small silver rings on his fingers, a grin catching the better of him. He cups his hands around his mouth, standing on his tippy toes as he faces the far end of the gym where most of the students were.

“You did well everybody!” Chan calls out to the students, cheerfully waving his arms. Seungkwan laughs, walking to the nearest student and stretching his hands out to help them up. The boy heaves a shallow breath, wiping away a trail of blood on his nose as he gives Seungkwan and Chan a look of awe.

“You guys are kind of amazing,” the guy says with a shy smile. Seungkwan gives him a comforting pat on the back, a smile on his bright face.

“That’s the whole point of being a hero, is it not?”

“I wonder what’s for dinner?” Chan wonders aloud on their way to the base. Seungcheol had one more section with the freshmen and sent Seungkwan and Chan back ahead of time. They broke up two gang fights, stopped a burglar and grabbed a stick of takoyaki each, wandering around the marketplace on unscheduled guard duty. Seungkwan doesn’t hear Chan at first, his nose scrunches up and brow furrows in thought as they walk past someone about to pull a knife out against a street food vendor. Chan debates taking that one before a wild pan flies up from behind the vendor’s counter and bangs the guy on the head. Chan gives Seungkwan a raised eyebrow, although he knows Seungkwan is the number one fan of beating people in the face with pans. Chan would know. He was on the receiving end once.

“There’s too much tension for a post-wartime, don’t you think,” Seungkwan points out, gesturing at a couple of people running from the police. Chan furrows his brows. Thieves don’t exactly see the difference between wartime and non-wartime.

“What do you mean?” Chan asks. Seungkwan shrugs, mumbling something unintelligible as he continues to stare at their surroundings. Chan gives him a curious look, before deciding against asking. If Seungkwan has something worth sharing, Chan will never hear the end of it. He’d rather not start the whole process. They walk in silence for a while longer, only stopping every now and then to stop yet another fight over some rude remarks. Maybe Seungkwan raises a point. Even the capital is less tense than this.

Chan sighs, crossing his arms behind his head and staring at the streaking orange sky. A cool breeze runs through his hair, the smell of sea salt and burnt vegetables collecting in the pits of Chan’s lungs. His face relaxes, a facade of serenity crossing his features as Chan allows himself to slip back into memory lane for a brief moment.

He can remember the first day Chan stepped foot in the daunting Kangwon Marketplace. Seungkwan, one of his two new roommates at the time, dragged an unwilling Chan and Hansol along to hunt down a package from his mom that got lost in the mail. It got mixed up with some restaurant in the marketplace, and Chan distinctively remembers Seungkwan spending a good hour arguing with the owner about how the shipment of fresh tangerines sitting at the back of the restaurant was, in fact, Seungkwan’s. The lady didn’t buy it. Chan took the opportunity of what he knows will be hours of arguing, grabbing Hansol by the elbow and dragging him out to explore. Chan remembers them spotting the game arcade nearby, along with the pure shock and awe and how good Hansol was at the stupid claw machines. They (Hansol) won three plushies after only five tries on the rigged machine that just tries to suck money out of poor, unfortunate souls. The small otter charm that hangs from a chain along Chan's side smacks his thigh every few steps, a dull rhythm that keeps Chan grounded even down years worth of memories. He remembers the afternoon sunset glow that cast a golden glow on Hansol’s hair like a crown, and perhaps Chan was in love from that first moment, staring at Hansol’s concentrated expression, his brows furrowed and his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in the cutest little tic ever. The machine cast a soft blue on his features, in contrast to the sunshine, drawing two blue circles in Hansol’s irises like the flavoured frosting on Chan’s chocolate birthday cake his friends tried their best to make on his first birthday away from home. A bittersweet memory, in a way, both because of the cake and—

Chan sighs, blinking the tears out of the corner of his eyes. There’s a kind of sadness to having to talk about someone in the past tense. Chan bites his bottom lip, trying to stop his emotions from welling up. There’s a time-tested piece of advice Chan remembers Seungcheol gave him after every few battles when they have burial rites. Never let yourself think about the ‘what if’s, the ‘if only’s and most importantly, never allow yourself to cling onto someone that’s already gone. That’s the hardest part, Chan argued back, memories of his grandma’s advice when he left home coming back despite Chan’s best efforts to ignore what everyone was telling him. If he doesn’t remember—

Seungkwan nudges Chan lightly, shaking him out of his train of thoughts. Chan blinks, not noticing the wet drops on his cheeks and the taste of blood on his tongue from biting his lips too hard. Chan sighs, peeking at Seungkwan’s quiet yet concerned expression.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Seungkwan asks, gentle prodding. Chan contemplates his offer. Jeonghan and Jisoo often nag him for closing in too much, filtering everything he shows to everyone to only the positive qualities. It makes a kind of false friendship, according to them. Chan tries not to, but he doesn’t want to make others have to worry about him. Seungkwan’s gotten closer than practically everyone, even Hansol, probably finding parts of Chan even he doesn’t know. Still, Seungkwan prefers confirmation over his intuition, and Chan wishes his conscience would allow Seungkwan in. Alas, that isn’t the case.

“Not really,” Chan replies. Seungkwan nods, not prodding any further. Instead, he tilts his head back and gazes at the sky, trying to see what Chan was staring at. He squints, looking like a ridiculous old lady as his whole face scrunches up.

“I never got yours and Hansol’s obsession with cloud gazing. Stars, I can understand, but you two stay up to watch floating gray blocks in the sky, for some weird reason,” Seungkwan comments, tilting his head slightly. He must have found an interesting shape. Chan follows his gaze, finding a group of clouds that resemble a cute smiley face. Chan grins, grateful for the distraction from his thoughts.

“Stars are overrated,” Chan replies, “just a bunch of dots people connect to make vague outlines for constellations. Clouds, on the other hand, uses a perfect mix between imagination and observation to make pretty shapes, like that smiley face over there.”

Seungkwan tilts his head a little further, frowning. “It looks like a fart.”

Chan smacks his arm, but a snort already escapes before he can stop himself. Seungkwan flashes him a cheeky grin, about to bite back when a loud clatter rings from the other side of the square they’re walking through. Chan whips his head to the source of the sound, finding a distressed man cupping his hands and shouting, but no sounds come out. A woman runs away from him, flickers of red magic trailing behind her and towards the fallen man. Seungkwan sighs.

“That looks like a chase,” Seungkwan comments, his voice fighting itself. Not quite the model striker. Chan grins in his stead, grabbing Seungkwan’s wrist and pulling him towards the girl as he creates a portal ball in his hand and flings it in the direction of the thief, sliding his blades out from its ring form.

“You need more exercise, old man,” Chan teases. Seungkwan’s face heats up, about to reply as Chan’s portal ball activates, bringing both of them through, and Seungkwan abandons his snarky comment to unsheathe his weapon. A stray watermelon soars over their head, presumably from the thief as she tries to escape. Chan teleports it back to its original place as Seungkwan shoots down the alleyways in a chase, tapping two short signals on Chan’s shoulder. Code for Sparrow Formation, as he thrusts Chan into the sky. From the bird’s eye view, Chan can see exactly where the girl is headed, a short opening on the alleyway and he teleports to it, stopping her in her tracks. Her high black ponytail whips her in the face as she skids to a sudden stop and turns, growling in frustration. Chan shoots an energy blade in front of her, stopping her in her tracks as a wild look takes over her eyes. She pulls out a knife from her belt holster, tucking away a strange piece of paper into her pocket and jabs at Chan. Chan easily sidesteps the stab, interlocking his blades together to disarm her. She growls again, kicking her leg up in a high arc as a dagger falls out. Chan barely dodges the kick, watching as she flicks the dagger towards him, a stray gust of wind stopping it mere millimetres from his chest. An invisible force slams her against the wall, two arrows fired an inch away from her face to stop her from struggling as a hooded figure drops down from the rooftops. Seungkwan catches up, flicking his wrist and letting the dagger in front of Chan drop as he turns to the hooded figure and sighs.

“Ever the dramatic entrance, Jisoo,” Seungkwan mumbles, skidding to a stop. Jisoo throws his hood back, flashing Seungkwan a grin before walking towards the woman. She squeezes her eyes shut and curls into a ball, covering herself in layers of cloth from her clothing. Jisoo snarls.

“Who sent you?” He asks, his normally gentle voice lilting off with a sharp edge. There’s a hint of frustration and exhaustion to his tone as if he’s been chasing her for a while. Chan and Seungkwan exchange a look, wondering what happened. A hollow laugh echoes in the alleyway.

“Not everyone is happy with the outcome of the war, you know?” the woman sneers, pulling a dagger from her cloak. Jisoo’s eyes widen, snarling as he raises his hand and stops her motion in its tracks. Haemokinesis, the ability to control blood, whether it’s outside of someone’s body, or flowing through their veins. Jisoo was terrifyingly good at the latter.

“Who. Sent. You.” Jisoo repeats, accenting his words with a pulse down the woman’s veins. She grins, eyes flashing with glee.

“Mortem,” she whispers, before her force of will wins over Jisoo’s exhausted state and the dagger in her hand pummels into her own chest. No more information can be extracted from that. Blood gushes out of her, irises rolling back as she slumps over and Jisoo lets out a frustrated cry, punching the brick wall. Chan hesitates, not sure how to react. He glances at Seungkwan, who gives him a firm look to stand down, before slowly approaching the woman’s corpse. He fishes out a bloodstained piece of paper, scanning it before glancing at Jisoo.

“Who’s Mortem?” Seungkwan asks. Jisoo’s ragged breathing slowly evens out, as a sigh heaves through his body.

“A rebellion organization. They’re trying to restart the war, since their side lost,” Jisoo mumbles. Chan’s eyebrows furrow.

“They lost just as much as us, if not more. Why would they do that?” Chan asks. Jisoo shakes his head, slowly straightening as he stares at the piece of paper in Seugkwan’s hands.

“Some grudges lay deeper than just two nations,” Jisoo says mysteriously before he sighs. Seungkwan shakes his head.

“They’re trying to assassinate old alium unit members, Jin-Li’s saving grace,” Seungkwan explains, showing Chan the poster in his hands. Chan sucks in a breath, whipping his head to Jisoo and back to the paper, gaping as he matches the picture-perfect features sketch.

“You’re just here for the note, right?” Jisoo asks, turning to Chan and pulling a small folded piece of paper from his pocket. Chan gulps, nodding hesitantly. Jisoo turns to Seungkwan.

“I hope he’s learnt something here,” Jisoo says to Seungkwan, “you can catch a ride with Mingyu to Baoyang in the morning. We shouldn’t have more than two unit members in one place. The four of us alone would endanger Kangwon.”

Chan purses his lips nervously. “And what about you and Seungcheol?” Chan asks. Jisoo gives him a meek smile of disappointment as if he had hoped they would have had more time.

“We’ll be fine. And if our suspicions are correct, we’ll see each other soon,” Jisoo tells him mysteriously, walking over and tapping the left breast pocket of Soonyoung’s old aviator jacket as he slides the paper in.

“Keep that pager close by, yeah? We’ll need you to be at a moment’s notice.”

Chan gulps, composing himself as he stands up straight in a mock salute.

“Only if you keep yourself safe.”

As it turns out, Mingyu’s ride is on a boat, much to Seungkwan’s motion sickness’ bad luck.

“Let it out, Boo. It’s better than keeping it all in,” Chan coaxes gently as Seungkwan throws up for the millionth time off the side of the boat. A seagull narrowly dodges a flying piece of puke, and Chan looks away from the scene as he gingerly pats Seungkwan, praying he won’t kill another seagull with his high-speed liquid projectiles.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Seungkwan moans, face a sickly shade of green. Chan gives him a sympathetic pat on the back, massaging his shoulder blades gently as Seungkwan squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fixed point on the horizon. We talked about it, Boo,” Chan says patiently, emphasizing Seungkwan’s nickname in an effort to keep his attention on Chan and not the waves. Seungkwan gingerly lifts his head, squinting as he stares at the horizon line. He slowly pushes himself up, resting his weight on the banister. Chan loops an arm under Seungkwan’s belly, pushing him up gently as he helps him to a nearby bench.

“I hate boats,” Seungkwan bemoans. Chan laughs softly, carding his hair back as he stretches his arms into the sky to stretch. Seungkwan stares up at Chan, the green on his face fading as an odd look passes through his eyes. Chan cocks his head in confusion, feeling the sea breeze run through his hair as the afternoon sun beats on his face. Seungkwan’s ears tint with the slightest hint of pink, his lips pursing as he shakes his head hesitantly. Chan frowns.

“What’s wrong?” Chan asks. Seungkwan waves him away, refusing to meet Chan’s gaze as he stares up at the sky.

“Nothing,” Seungkwan mumbles, although Chan knows for a fact that it’s something. He doesn’t pry. If Seungkwan can give him space, the least Chan can do is return the favour.

“What did that note say, anyway?” Seungkwan says, trying to redirect the conversation. Chan shrugs, pulling the folded piece of paper out of his aviator jacket. His fingers graze the pager in his pocket, suddenly remembering Wonwoo’s offer to get out of the country. Was he trying to get them out of the potential warzone? Chan shakes off the thought, clearing his throat.

“Your time, one by one. Times without you, one by one I hear it passing, but there’s no time to waste in my heart,” Chan reads aloud, his grip tightening on the paper to stop the winds from whisking it away. The sea breeze picks up as if even the sky is picking up on Seungkwan’s distaste for the sea. Chan prays they get to Baoyang in one piece. Seungkwan bites his top lip in thought, staring at a spot on the ground.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chan wonders aloud, scrunching up his nose in thought. He leans against the boat’s banister, trying to recall a conversation or a memory that might help. Baoyang was known for being the art center of Jin-Li, a place for the creative mind to prosper. Soonyoung and Jihoon were from there, two like-minded souls who gave up their original dream for the war. Chan remembers the stories about Soonyoung’s self-training, which comprised of running up and down the tallest tower in all of Jin-Li, a hybrid of theatres, art galleries and museums mismatched into one building, standing high over the town like a gigantic mural, its glass walls tinted in vibrant shades to paint a picture of a gigantic lotus. At least, that’s what Chan’s heard from Soonyoung. Jihoon gave him a much different description, dreamily staring into the sky as he recounted the afternoons he spent on the observation deck at the top of the tower, staring at the setting sun and finding inspiration for the hardest of songs. He told Chan and Seungkwan about the ringing fairy bells on that level once, when they were waiting for a signal before a battle as they sat in a tiny dirt ditch. Their bells were synched to the hour, ringing like a cuckoo bird to remind Jihoon of the real world. Chan wondered if he’ll ever be able to feel it in person, and now it’s like he’s crossing it off a bucket list.

“Maybe he wants you to find something from before you two met?” Seungkwan proposes, snatching Chan from his daydream, “the ‘times without you’ part I mean.”

Chan hums in thought, about to respond when a loud horn booms throughout the boat.

“We are now approaching Baoyang!” Mingyu’s friend Bambam’s voice rings on the overhead speaker, ridiculously cheerful, “please make sure you have all your luggage. We will be selling anything you have left for beer money, so please be wary. Or don’t, I don’t really care.”

Chan snorts at the comment, cupping his hands and yelling towards the captain’s booth. “Can I leave my emotional baggage here?”

Moments later, Bambam peeked out from his booth, megaphone in hand.

“We don’t take anything bigger than a suitcase!” Bambam yells back.

“Shame,” Seungkwan deadpans, “I was hoping to leave you behind.”

The second Chan steps foot in the Baoyang alium base, a shrill cry of “Took you long enough!” and a gigantic tackle hug knocked the air out of his lungs.

“Ribs,” Chan croaks, instantly regretting his decision to stay at the alium base. Mingyu laughs at him, a bright sound that vibrates through the penthouse. Sunlight filters through the curtains on the far side of the base, a direct view over the city from the hillside perch the penthouse was on. In the distance, Baoyang’s infamous Lotus Tower poked up into the sky like a needle among the lower-lying buildings. Chan sees all of this out of the corner of his eye, but most of his attention is focused on uselessly squirming, already hit with the sense of deja vu from Jisoo’s hug but a week ago.

This time, however, his attacker doesn’t relent.

“I always tell you guys to write or send a comm, but you all just drop off the radar like I mean nothing to you!” Jeonghan whines, pinching Chan’s cheeks as he reprimands him. Chan whines, pushing him away as Mingyu’s laugh turns into a cackle. Jeonghan’s attention diverts immediately, hardening into a glare as he meets Mingyu’s gaze.

“And you! Taking on so many orders from the army without even so much as letting the rest of us know! I had to pull some strings to make you come and visit, you insensitive—”

“Sorry?” Mingyu asks, tentatively interrupting Jeonghan. Jeonghan huffs, puffing out his chest as he turns to Seungkwan. His face melts into a soft, sympathetic smile with traces of curiosity and hope in his gaze.

“Have you done it yet?” Jeonghan asks. Seungkwan shakes his head, pursing his lips. Chan gives him a confused look.

“Do what?” Chan asks. He’s ignored as Mingyu gives Seungkwan a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Jeonghan sighs, walking over and wrapping Seungkwan in a tight (but breathable) hug.

“Until when will you—”

Seungkwan clears his throat, evidently uncomfortable. Jeonghan seems to get the memo, brushing Seungkwan’s fringe out of his eyes as they exchange glances.  
“Um, guys?” Chan asks, cocking his head in confusion, “am I missing something?”

“Ah that’s none of your business, Chan,” Jeonghan waves him off, “go and settle in, now, children!” Jeonghan chirps, pushing them into the deceptively big penthouse. Seungkwan and Chan protest the entire way, eventually complying with Jeonghan’s whims as they set their bags in the hallway.

“I’ll call Seok and tell him we need more dinner supplies, and I’m putting Mingyu on kitchen duty tonight,” Jeonghan calls out as he turns to leave. Suddenly, Mingyu freezes, two centimetres away from the doorknob to his guest room.

“S-Seokmin?” Mingyu squeaks. Chan gives him a confused look, glancing at Seungkwan for help. Seungkwan gives him an exasperated look. He makes a vague hand motion, drawing a heart in the air and then pointing at Mingyu. Chan’s eyes widen, mouth agape as he cackles. Jeonghan gives Mingyu a secretive smile.

“He won’t be too mad,” Jeonghan teases, “but he might not be too happy to see your new scars from the missions.”

“Minnie please, it’s just a scratch,” Mingyu pleads, face scrunched up in fear as his biceps tense up in an attempt to dodge Seokmin’s scissors. Seokmin gives Mingyu an unamused look, smearing some kind of lotion over a large scar that ran from Mingyu’s shoulder to the halfway point on his upper arm, wearing ugly shade of burgundy with some hasty stitches that ran over it.

“Just a scratch my ass. What did you tear this time?” Seokmin chides, slowly undoing the stitches to dab some kind of lotion over top. Mingyu hisses in pain, clenching his fist as Jeonghan calls out some words of encouragement from the kitchen. Chan and Seungkwan are on the couch by the window, watching with mild amusement as Mingyu tries to downplay how he got into a fight with a griffin and it tore his skin open, but nothing underneath got hurt so it’s basically just a scratch.

“When will you stop getting into fights with everyone, you big dumb hero,” Seokmin mumbles, resting his hands over Mingyu’s wound and closing his eyes. Soft turquoise magic envelops Mingyu’s arm in a layer of healing mist, seeping in and repairing the wound.

“I was trying to help out some kids who got lost in the woods,” Mingyu mutters, staring at his wound. Or, really, the line where his wound used to be, now replaced by a thin line of slightly darker skin, as if it was a really protruding vein.

“You don’t have to save everyone, Gyu,” Seokmin sighs, exasperated, “not at the cost of yourself.”

“I can still fight perfectly fine,” Mingyu counters. Seokmin shakes his head, gesturing for Mingyu to turn around so he could inspect his back. Seokmin’s finger runs on the skin, tapping slowly as Mingyu winces as if it pained him to even move his back.

“Three days rest, doctor’s orders,” Seokmin murmurs, stopping his finger at a small circle on the small of Mingyu’s back. He hesitates, glancing up to meet Mingyu’s eyes.

“I could heal this one, Gyu? It’s just an impact wound. You could move more freely,” Seokmin says, tendrils of magic coating his fingers. Mingyu bites his bottom lip.

“I’d like to keep some scars. Remind me of why I’m doing what I’m still doing,” Mingyu mumbles. Chan stares at him in curiosity, a request for an explanation on the tip of his tongue, held back only by his hesitance at the sight of Mingyu’s expression. He turns to Seungkwan, biting his bottom lip as he jerks his head in Mingyu’s direction. Seungkwan purses his lips, the soft city lights outside twinkling his hesitant eyes as he shakes his head, mouthing to Chan a single word.  _ Hansol _ .

“You can’t move on with open scars, Gyu,” Seokmin tries, desperation creeping into his voice. There’s another lace of bitterness to his tone, somewhere between sympathy and longing, and Chan can’t be sure which makes the situation more saddening to watch. He knows he’s not the only one to feel the pain of losing an important team member, justifying his own pain by telling himself it’s because Hansol was his most important bright spot in the future. But then again, he’s selfish to claim Hansol for his own.

Chan remembers first term exams when the sophomores did a one-on-one workshop of sorts with the first years. While Chan got on terribly with the sassy girl he was paired with, Mingyu practically became Hansol’s big brother. Protected him from the cafeteria bullies who never ceased to try and make fun of Hansol’s foreign lineage, gave him an immediate spot on one of the best strike teams in the army, Unit Seventeen, and even after that, Chan still finds Mingyu looking out for Hansol on every mission that he could. Of course, Mingyu would be struck down by grief too.

Seungkwan rests a steady hand over Chan’s own, startling him as Chan realizes he’s starting to bottle up even more guilt in his gut, his hands shaking. A concerned look passes over Seungkwan’s face as if asking if Chan’s alright. Chan waves him away, returning his attention to Seokmin and Mingyu as Seokmin bandages up the wounds on Mingyu’s side.

“You can’t save everyone,” Chan finds himself saying before he realizes it, staring directly at Mingyu. Mingyu lifts his head to attention, staring at Chan with a hesitant look.

“I could’ve saved him,” Mingyu argues, “I just didn’t act fast enough.”

Chan bites his bottom lip. He knows his own sadness. He knows the intricacies of the crippling cloud of rain that hangs over his head, constantly threatening to burst open over Chan at any moment. He knows the dull ache that comes with missing someone, and the sharp pain that comes with looking ahead to see that someone has gone from his future. Mingyu’s sadness feels different, yet it’s so similar in ways Chan can’t explain.

“You’re going to find that time travelling machine, right?” Mingyu asks, breaking their tense silence. Chan nods, trying to put heart into the one thing he can be sure about. He’ll find it, at the very least. Using it will be another thought.

“Do what I couldn’t, will you?” Mingyu asks, his voice somehow steady. As if he’s done crying, pushing himself to move from one place to another like a moth and trying to become the hero he thinks he couldn’t be. The knot in Chan’s stomach tightens as Seokmin gives him a pointed look and shakes his head.

“You can’t risk a thousand lives to save one, no matter how important that one life is,” Seokmin cuts in, anger in his tone that was so unnatural to the peaceful and happy-go-lucky medic Chan knew and loved. He’s more rugged, harsher and braver as if seeing all the people he couldn’t save let him accept his restrictions. Chan refuses to accept his restrictions. He opens his mouth to respond when a loud beep rings through the air, and Jeonghan’s head ducks out from the kitchen, waving a holopad in the air.

“Soo’s calling! There's something important he needs to share,” Jeonghan announces, unceremoniously tossing it into the air and zooming the holographic screen to fit the side of the living room. Then he sits down on the couch, between Mingyu and Chan as if he’s blocking the conversation from continuing. Jisoo’s holographic face pops up, and Chan pays him all his attention, shoving his emotions down like an oversized trash bag into the chute.

“You guys have quite the view,” Jisoo comments, his eyes staring off to the distance. Jeonghan grins at him, grateful for the icebreaker to defuse the atmosphere.

“Why thank you. Now, what’s up?” Jeonghan asks, straight to the point. Jisoo’s face turns grim, a tired line setting on his mouth as Chan notices the heavy bags under his eyes. He’s practically about to crash, leaning back on his chair like it’s a bed as he glances over his holopad camera.

“Remember the assassin from a week ago?” Jisoo asks, staring pointedly at Chan and Seungkwan. Chan nods as Seungkwan makes an affirmative noise.

“We were right. They’re going for the alium units. They staged a strike on the Academy yesterday, while Cheol and I were in for a teaching session. Almost no one got hurt, at the very least, but I don’t think that’s the last of the attacks,” Jisoo explains, exhaustion clipping the end of his every word. Chan notices his limp left arm, thrown over his lap in an odd position. Every time he tried to shift a little, or even fidget, pain flashed through his face. Chan’s stomach drops. Surely they attacked based on the idea that Seungkwan and Chan were still there, and instead of having four people to fight it off, Jisoo and Seungcheol took the burnt of everything.  _ They had the other alium students _ , Chan reminds himself, trying to calm his palpitating heart, although the thought of students fighting real-life threats before they’re prepared digs a hole in Chan’s gut. Seungkwan’s hold on Chan’s hand tightens, snapping Chan out of his haze as Chan notices the concern on Seungkwan’s face.

“They’ll likely be coming here after, if information about Chan and Seungkwan’s whereabouts slip out,” Jeonghan reasons, glancing at Seungkwan and Chan, before hesitating and looking to Mingyu and Seokmin.

“Are you leaving soon?” Jeonghan asks Mingyu. Mingyu hesitates, glancing at Seokmin. Seokmin gives him a firm look, a silent argument passing between them.

“I’ll travel back to Kangwon, help you guys shore up your defences,” Mingyu proposes, keeping a wary eye on Seokmin. Seokmin narrows his eyes, opening his mouth to protest before Jeonghan clears his throat and interrupts them.

“Why don’t you go with him, Seokmin? The others need a medic more then we do. Baoyang’s doctors can handle battle wounds better than Kangwon’s school forces can,” Jeonghan orders. Jisoo makes a strangled noise.

“Four alium unit members in one place? That’ll just attract more!” Jisoo protests. Jeonghan gives him a glare, and Chan feels a shiver running down his back. For a relatively gentle guy, Jeonghan is downright terrifying when it comes down to it.

“You’re out of commission, Jisoo, and the school needs more defences. Two of the unit’s best guards aren’t enough if you don’t have a battle medic and a striker,” Jeonghan counters, voice firm. Jisoo opens his mouth to protest, even though Chan knows it’ll be futile because no one argues with a determined Jeonghan when a loud crash boom from Jisoo’s end. Chan jumps, eyes widening.

“What was that?” Seungkwan asks, concern laced in his tone. Jisoo flinches, covering his head with his arms as a flash of green flashes in front of him. A faraway shout that’s unintelligible from their end pops up, and Jisoo hands scramble for a tiny dart in his pocket. Chan’s eyes widen at the sight, recognizing the dart in an instant.

“Tranquilizer darts?!” Seungkwan shouts, plucking the words from Chan’s mouth as the struggle on the other screen continues. Jeonghan’s brows raise in worry, instinctively biting his nails as he mumbles something under his breath. Chan ignores him, trying to discern what’s going on. Suddenly, a loud, familiar roar fills the air, abruptly cutting off as a loud thump continues from the other end. Jisoo’s face pops into view again, struggling as he slumps into his chair. Jeonghan rises immediately, walking over to the holographic projection in anger.

“What was that?!” Jeonghan demands, and Chan shares his sentiment, albeit less aggressive.

“They’ve got some kind of gift-enhancing drug on their side,” Jisoo sighs, grabbing a water bottle from behind the camera and gulping it down.

“Guess who took an overdose?” Jisoo prompts, watching with tired eyes as realization dawns on the rest of them.  
“How long?” Jeonghan asks, voice laced with worry.

“Only one day out of three, if the medics are correct. I’m keeping him under tranquilization for now.”

Chan gulps, staring at the flickering projection of Jisoo with fear. It’s no small secret who Unit Seventeen’s aces are after the other retired ones, their strongest line of defence reduced to shambles. The pager in Chan’s pocket feels heavy like a responsibility rests on his shoulders to ask something not offered when Wonwoo tucked the pager in Soonyoung’s jacket. Jisoo hangs up the call after a few beats of silence, a ping of text sending onto Jeonghan’s holopad as the rest of them stare at Jeonghan. For now, he was their pseudo-leader, while Jisoo and Seungcheol are out of commission. His body is shaking, hands planted on the coffee table while the rest of them stare, not daring to break the silence.

Seungkwan took the volatile first step.

“What’s next, boss?” Seungkwan mumbles, using Seungcheol’s old nickname in an effort to help Jeonghan ground himself. Jeonghan draws a shaky breath, straightening as he stares at his holopad with a neutral face.

“We’ll have to bring the fight to them,” Jeonghan says solemnly. He turns to everyone in the room, watching with listless emotions.

“But not now, right?” Seokmin asks tentatively. Jeonghan nods.

“Not now. Chan?” Jeonghan asks, catching his attention. Chan flinches, composing himself.

“Try talking to Sofia for that next note of yours. If I remember correctly, she’s doing a fashion show at The Lotus Tower in three days,” Jeonghan suggests. Chan nods, grateful for something to do, but he can’t help but feel like a burden in the impending war restart. Before he can voice his thoughts, Jeonghan presses on.

“We have no idea what they know about your time travelling device, but I can assume they can track every one of us,” Jeonghan says, turning around to stare into the cityscape, “which means they must at least know of the device’s existence. We can’t let them get to it.”

“So it’s a race,” Seungkwan summarizes, confirming Chan’s fear. He’d hope he would get more time to take this journey at his own pace. Things never quite work out in his favour. Chan recalls the last phrase of Hansol’s last note, ‘but there’s no time to waste’, and he can’t help but feel a weird sense of dread from Hansol’s writing. Surely he had no idea of the war, right? Hansol was scary perceptive and good at predictions, but no one could have suspected this, right?

Chan brushes the thought away.

“I hate not being able to help,” Chan mumbles. Jeonghan gives him a sympathetic look.

“You are helping. Time travelling resets would make everything infinitely simpler,” Jeonghan explains, walking over to Chan and giving his hair a soft pat.

“Still,” Chan mumbles, “guilt doesn’t sit well with me.”

The afternoon sun is ridiculously bright in Baoyang, Chan notes. He’s sitting in the very back row of some fancy event, staring at a blank white curtain as soft silver bells echo in the background. White flower petals line the side of the stage in a touch of elegance, spreading all the way under the chairs set out for visitors. He thinks back to the note Jisoo gave him, slowly piecing the clue together. Times in Hansol’s life without Chan would be before he went to Kangwon, so it’s a clue about his family. His sister Hangyeol, to be exact, but it makes sense. He supposes the second part is about the Baoyang tower and its soft silver bells, marking every hour.

Chan fiddles with the pass around his neck, simultaneously surprised Jeonghan got him a pass this close to the event and nervous about meeting the one behind the whole event. Realistically, he knows Hangyeol is the sweetest from the brief period of time he stayed at Hansol’s parent’s home for Christmas break when his hometown was a warzone. Still, that was nearly half a decade ago, plenty of time for someone to change. Jeonghan assured Chan he’ll be fine, but anxiety had always been an unfortunate forte of Chan’s skills.

“You look like a bridesmaid worried about meeting her husband’s tiger parents or something,” Seungkwan whispers in Chan’s ears, chuckling softly. Chan snorts at the comment, leaning back on his chair in an attempt to relax.  
“It’s kind of similar, isn’t it?” Chan muses, gesturing at Hangyeol poking her head slightly through the curtains to check on the guests. Her hair is tied up in a loose bun, golden highlights in the light brown hair to complement her sparkly makeup. Her eyes land on Chan and Seungkwan, tucked to the side but still close enough to the stage. She widens her eyes, amber lens sparkling under the afternoon sunlight. The bells ring in the background, signalling the hour as Hangyeol ducks back behind the curtains. Chan sits up straight, trying to look a little proper as the hostess steps out into the spotlight.

She makes a ridiculously long speech, introducing herself as some fashion collector from uptown Baoyang before launching into her life history, ending it with her ‘fateful’ meeting of Choi Hangyeol, a fresh graduate of the Baoyang School of Fashion. Chan tunes her out about a minute into her speech, zoning out until Seungkwan taps him on the shoulder to signify the start of the show. A stream of ridiculously tall women starts walking down the runway, modelling a collection of casual spring apparel, if Chan’s pamphlet is correct. He was never good at recognizing fashion, growing up with pretty much just uniforms and comfort wear. Regardless, he could sum up the outfits as simply pretty and nice-looking with the setting sunlight on them. About an hour in, the lights flicker on inside of the runway hall, spotlights of pink and blue hues dancing with the models’ sways on the runway and Chan feels a bit guilty about finding the special effects prettier than the show itself. Seungkwan must’ve shared the same sentiment, nudging Chan lightly to gesture at the falling flower petals from the ceiling. Chan marvels at the sight, wondering how the synthetic petals look so lifelike when a dark shadow shoots past the catwalk. Chan flinches, frowning to himself as he tries to figure out what it must’ve been. He turns to look at Seungkwan, who shares the same sentiment.

“Maybe it’s backstage staff, running the special effects?” Seungkwan whispers. Chan shrugs, keeping a wary eye out for the above. Perhaps he’s just being paranoid. He tries to refocus on the show, even though the instinctive side of his brain plots out the paths out of the room in case of an emergency, unconsciously tracing for the easiest way to get a potential attacker away from the guests. Seungkwan, on the other hand, starts furiously flipping through the little booklet they all received, scanning for something. Chan spares him a curious glance.

“Isn’t this show supposed to symbolize something?” Seungkwan mumbles. Chan pauses, biting his bottom lip in thought as he watches the falling flowers again. Peace lilies, lavenders, white poppies, lining the runway sides and filling the air as it slowly dawns on Chan.

“Peace,” Chan whispers, turning to Seungkwan. Seungkwan nods, tapping at a section on his booklet.

“To show that Jin-Li can bounce back, starting from its artistic sector,” Seungkwan whispers. A lady to their left gives them a death glare for making too much noise, even though the music surely drowns it all out anyway. Chan doesn’t pay her any mind. He glances at the catwalk again, spotting the dark figure again, staring at the curtains. Chan clenches his teeth, drawing a small circle on Seungkwan’s knuckles to signal the shadow’s location. Seungkwan taps back on his middle knuckle, sliding his finger in the direction of the wings. Hangyeol is peeking out, anxiously watching the crowd’s reaction.

“I’ll stall while you get everyone out?” Seungkwan whispers. Chan nods, patiently waiting for the shadow to make the first move. For a brief moment, he wonders if he’s overreacting, reflexes from the war speaking instead of his common sense. The shadow could simply be staff.

Sadly, that theory wasn’t true.

As soon as the show ends, Hangyeol and the lady from the beginning step out for a bow, the final burst of special effects flying into the air as the crowd erupts into applause. Hangyeol approaches a microphone, chuckling nervously as she starts her speech of thanks.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” she begins, staring at the crowd in bashfulness and joy, seemingly bursting at the seams.

“Jin-Li has been in war for nearly three decades, and we all lost something dear to us to find peace again,” she continues, striking a chord in Chan’s gut. He wonders what Hansol would have thought of his sister standing on the stage of her dreams, carrying on in his stead.

“My brother told me something once.” She chokes, swallowing as she blinks away her soft tears. They look like sparkles with her makeup, and if Chan isn’t so used to seeing held back tears, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“‘Everything good must come to an end. But being able to move onto something else is what’s important’,” Hangyeol quotes, smile faltering ever so slightly. “I called him an old man for it then because six years of age difference was everything to me back then.”

Everyone chuckled lightly at her comment.

Hangyeol’s eyes turn sad, still smiling softly as she tries to power through the rest of her speech.

“He’s right, though, and I’m sorry to myself that it took his life for me to get it. I’m sorry to all of Jin-Li for having to sacrifice so many people for us to see the value of strangers that we see everyday. I’m sorry it took so much for peace to return. But we need to move on. If not for the people we’ve lost, it’s for the people we’ve yet to lose. Every life lost has run its course, and it’s our job to allow it to pass on. Thank you for choosing to move on together,” Hangyeol finishes, launching the crowd into a series of whoops and cheers as Chan feels the first bead of tear roll down his cheeks. Seungkwan grips his hand in comfort as Chan’s inner turmoil boils over. Hansol ran his course, of course, sacrificing himself to save a million others. Chan wonders if it’ll be too selfish to ask otherwise. Perhaps in a different life, the sacrifice won’t have to be necessary. Chan doesn’t know if he could last until then. Everyone’s found a new track, unlike him.

“Chan, catwalk,” Seungkwan hisses, snapping Chan out of his daze at the last possible second. The shadow on the catwalk is gone now, striking a chord of panic in Chan as his eyes frantically search the setting. Too late does he notice the small metal dart that flies in Hangyeol’s direction from behind, aimed perfectly to slice through her chest. Chan’s fingers curl to summon a portal orb for evacuation as he shoots out of his chair, heart sinking as he watches the dart make contact with Hangyeol’s chest.

But then, it stops, frozen in place. Seungkwan flicks his hand, letting the metal dart drop onto the ground as Chan spots the origin of the dart, a shadow in the back of the room, he instantly teleports Seungkwan there, unsheathing his mood blades as a squadron of people crash through the window. The crowd erupts into screams of panic as one of the invader’s backpacks starts to emit a sort of gas. Chan’s eyes widen, dashing to the source and wrapping the offender in a portal ball, tossing the destination portal out of the window. The others start to yell and turn to attack him. Chan turns to the petrified crowd with wide eyes, realizing he can’t get them moving fast enough. Hangyeol comes to his rescue, clutching the microphone as a stern look passes through her face.

“Everyone, please evacuate immediately!” Hangyeol practically screams, gesturing for security to open the doors. They tug to no avail as the invader’s shock slowly wears off. A strong gust of wind punches the door open to reveal a broken lock as Seungkwan, hovering over the crowd, gives them a stern stare.

“You heard the woman!”

The guests start running out as the invaders recover, starting to fling all sorts of weapons and tools at the crowd of escaping people. Seungkwan gives them a temporary shield of solid air, blocking the attacks as Chan runs through the invaders, using his moon blades to slice the invader’s weapons in half. Seungkwan joins him in an instant, picking up the grappling lines from the invaders and tying the nearest group down as Chan traps them to the ground with focused energy from his weapon, weaving bonds for them.

“Die!” a shrill voice cries out. The original attacker comes from Chan’s left flank, striking at his side as he barely dodges it, kicking the assassin in the gut to push him away. A wild look passes through the assassin’s eyes, bloodshot and furious as they pull out a syringe from their pocket. Chan’s eyebrow arch in confusion.

“You alium scum think you’re all that because you’ve got magical powers, huh?” the assassin growls, stabbing the syringe into their arm. Chan’s eyes widen in shock as he watches green energy wrap around the assassin’s body, flickering as they jump towards Chan with blinding speed. Chan rolls out of the way, teleporting to the opposite end of the room as the assassin follows him, impossibly fast. Could it be?

“That leader of yours was an excellent test subject,” the assassin whispers in Chan’s ear. Anger and shock flares in Chan’s chest, swarming his vision with adrenaline as Chan gathers energy in his palm, teleporting the assassin and him outside of the Lotus tower. They’re in free fall now as Chan presses his blade against the assassin’s throat. They do a whirlwind kick into Chan’s side, knocking the air out of his lung and one impossibly hard kick to his gut as Chan soars towards the ground. A soft breeze tickles his ears, stopping his fall as he spots Seungkwan duelling with the assassin. Chan raises his arm up, spotting a tiny syringe hanging out from his forearm as a haze of red takes over his vision. Everything starts to burn inside as if a fire is eating Chan alive. His vision flashes into a series of flashes as he feels himself phasing out of the real world, slipping into a state of limbo as if Chan’s stuck between two endless portals, feeding into each other. He feels his limbs grow weary as if the magic in him is slowly being sucked into the cold vacuum of the in-between of space Chan uses to teleport. His eyes droop close, drifting closer to unconsciousness as Chan flimsily yanks the empty syringe out. A warm arm loops around his waist, although the feeling is spotty as Chan continues to faze in and out of the portal world. He feels a soft thump as he presumably lands, wondering if it’s time to go already. Has he run his course?

“Chan!” a voice calls out to him, faraway and muffled as if he’s underwater. Chan’s brain snaps to focus, clutching to the sound of someone calling out to him. He refuses to have his life finish its course so early, clenching his teeth as Chan focuses on the feeling of the drug coursing through his veins. He focuses on the painful spike along his skin, forcing himself to ignore everything but the pain. Embracing it, Chan forces all of his teleporting magic to shut down, forcing every last tingle of magic in his fingers to dissipate as he’s pulled through the final portal, landing on the concrete pavement. Seungkwan’s blurry face is the first thing he sees as Chan materializes, along with a wave of white mist as it seeps into Chan’s exhausted limbs. The serum shoots out of the hole in his wrist like a leaky fountain, collecting in a small vial that hangs over Chan’s chest as someone helps him sit up.

“Chan?” Seungkwan’s worried voice calls to him, snapping Chan out of his daze. Chan blinks, looking around to find Seungkwan and Hangyeol hovering over him, sitting on the couch in the Baoyang alium base. Chan turns around, facing Jeonghan as he gives Chan a once over. He seems to make up his mind about something, looking at Seungkwan as a grateful smile blooms on his face.

“Well, I’m glad Seok labels his cleansing vials.”

“You want to save him?” Hangyeol exclaims, confusion and anger in her tone. Chan sheepishly ducks his head, avoiding her gaze. He fiddles with a stray thread on the couch seat as he tries to muster the courage to retort.

“Maybe? We’re just making sure it doesn’t—“ Chan tries to reason, faltering the moment he meets Hangyeol’s enraged eyes.

“Maybe?! Do you maybe want to restart the bloodiest war in the history of Jin-Li to save one person?! Why don’t you maybe go and assassinate the prime minister too, accelerate that maybe of yours?!” Hangyeol screams, fury boiling in the pit of her almond-shaped eyes. Chan swallows hesitantly. He opens his mouth to speak when a hand rests gently on his back. Chan looks up to meet Seungkwan’s firm gaze, telling him to shut it. Then, he turns to Hangyeol.

“Hangyeol, it’s not about whether he’ll save Hansol at this point for some selfish reason—“

“Then what’s it about?” Hangyeol snaps, glaring at Seungkwan. Seungkwan, unlike Chan, doesn’t waver.

“There’s a group of people very much against the war ending the way it is. You saw it yourself last night. We need to make sure this kind of power doesn’t fall into their hands, at the very least,” Seungkwan calmly reasons, and Chan wonders how he’s so level-headed about all of this. There’s a small part of amazement from Chan and a large part of worry. Seungkwan’s always been the emotional one of their group, with Chan remembering it hitting him harder than any of the others. Chan wonders what happened to Seungkwan to change him so much, from the emotional protector that never left someone behind to this cold, logical strategist. A small part of Chan feels the thump of fear in his heartbeat.

Hangyeol must’ve caught on too, ever the observant one as her eyes lose their challenge. She relaxes, nervously biting her bottom lip as she slips her hands into her coat pocket.

“Promise you’ll at least remember the people he’s saved? Hansol didn’t die in vain.”

Chan gives her a nod, much steadier then he expected. He’s never been one to break promises.

“Promise,” Chan whispers.

Hangyeol fishes out a small, folded piece of paper and hands it to Seungkwan, hesitant but trusting.

“And you promise you’ll make sure he’ll make the right choice?” Hangyeol whispers, the last spurt of hope in her tone as she looks at Seungkwan. Seungkwan gives her a small smile.

“It’s ultimately his choice,” Seungkwan reasons and Chan feels his gut twist. Hangyeol sighs, staring at Chan like he’s a broken doll she used to love, now lying at the bottom of the trash can. Chan hates pity. It’s never quite genuine, no matter how much someone tries to make it. They don’t know the whole story, and the ones who do always try to make him think of it in their twist of the story.

“You better,” she mutters, before turning on her heels and walking out. Chan hangs his head, feeling the familiar prick in the corner of his eyes. Chan blinks, refusing to cry as he levels his gaze with Seungkwan. There’s a soft look of worry in Seungkwan’s eyes that melts away Chan’s previous worry. Seungkwan hasn’t changed too much, more of a subtle shift. Chan wonders where it came from.

Suddenly, Seungkwan smacks Chan’s shoulder hard. Chan yelps, falling on his back as Seungkwan dives in for another shoulder smack.

“Hey! What the—”

Seungkwan grabs a fistful of Chan shirt and pulls him in for a hug, the distinct sound of the first sob ringing in the air.

“Idiot,” Seungkwan breathes, squeezing the life out of Chan. Chan squeaks, freezing in place as he tries to gape for breath. It’s quite the unhealthy tradition they have, squeezing the life out of him.

“Can’t— Breathe—” Chan squeaks, to which Seungkwan’s grip relaxes a bit. He shifts back, facing Chan with an unreadable expression, a cross between worry, relief, anger and hopelessness at the same time.

“Don’t scare me like that!” Seungkwan exclaims, jabbing at the needle wound on Chan’s wrist. Chan sighs in relief, thinking it was something else. He gives Seungkwan a soft smile.

“I’ll try,” Chan replies, his habit of making vague promises running too deep to uproot. It’s much too hard to keep an exact one in their line of work, after all. Before Seungkwan can dig for an exact promise, Chan grabs the piece of paper from his hand, steering the conversation topic at hand away. It’s not so much him trying to avoid the topic, but more the fact that he knows Seunkwan can spend hours fussing over someone once he’s given the incentive to start. It’s a bit of an asshole move, but Chan can’t bear to talk yet.

“Let’s see where we’re headed next, shall we?” Chan proposes. He flips open the paper, coming to face the flowing cursive Hansol’s always been unfairly good at.

“In a place with you, if all the time flows as if it’s following my heart’s ticking, then I believe that someday, that day will come,” Chan reads. A brief silence elapses, punctuated by Seungkwan sigh of annoyance.

“He’s not making this easy, is he?” Seungkwan muses, making grabby hands at the paper to scan it again. Chan hands it over as the gears in his brain turn.

“Do we need to visit another clock tower?” Chan wonders aloud. Seungkwan shrugs.

“Could be? I wonder what ‘that day’ could mean though,” Seungkwan asks. Chan doesn’t respond, letting his thoughts drift to memories. There are a million times he remembers Hansol geeking over the intricacies and beauty of clock towers, the engineering-obsessed time traveller Hansol is. Brown and golden memories, tinted with the slightest hint of sadness as Chan wishes he had more. There’s one in particular that sticks out the most, a memory of a gold chandelier that drew attention to the gigantic clock etched on the ceiling. Chan remembers the cool night breeze of the night, as well as the stuffy feeling of an entire division crammed into one ballroom. There’s also the pool of anticipation and ecstasy that laid in the pit of Chan’s stomach the entire night, finally spilling over at a certain taste on his lips. It could only be that day.

“The team assignment ball?” Chan mumbles to himself. Seungkwan nods, confirming his suspicion.

“I suppose it’s about time we visit the capital again,” Seungkwan comments, folding the piece of paper neatly and tucking it into his pocket. There’s a tinge of sadness to his tone, masked so well in his joking tone. Chan hasn’t been his friend for so long for nothing though. He doesn’t pry, allowing Seungkwan the same bit of kindness he gives Chan so often nowadays.

Really, humans are just difficult.

“Channie, wake up,” a faint voice calls out. Chan blinks his eyes open, groggily fluttering his eyelids as darkness continues to engulf him. Under his back, the train sways like it’s being tugged by a million stallions on rough dirt roads. The soft tinkling of Chan’s zipper on his bag brings a sort of contrast on the deep soundscape of the train. He can hear the soft plinking of rain outside, tapping like a curious woodpecker on the cabin’s water streaked window. Amidst the darkness and the sleepy circles in Chan’s vision is Seungkwan’s exasperated smile, brushing Chan’s fringe out of his eyes.

“We’re approaching the cliffs, Chan. Sunrise’s in twenty minutes and you are not missing it,” Seungkwan whisper-yells, tugging Chan’s blanket off as he tosses Chan a jacket. Chan catches it out of reflex, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes as a yawn takes over. Seungkwan snickers at him, a hand worming its way through Chan’s bedhead as his nose involuntarily scrunches up. The sound of rummaging meets Chan’s ears as he cracks open an eye to the first few rays of sunlight. Before he can react, water mist sprinkles over his face, making Chan flinch as he gives Seungkwan the best sleepy glare he can muster.

“Cute,” Seungkwan mumbles. Chan sticks his tongue at Seungkwan, grabbing his pillow and swinging it at his attacker. Seungkwan, predictably, shifts back to dodge the attack, to which Chan summons a portal behind him to let the swing follow through and smack Seungkwan on the back of his head. In almost comedic timing, the train runs over a sudden bump, jostling the cabin slightly as Seungkwan bangs his head against the top of Chan’s bottom bunk. Chan grins.

“Good morning to you too.”

They arrive at the back of the sleeper train whole minutes before the sunrise, for once. It’s a small tradition between the two of them, waking up to see the sunrise at every new place they visit in hopes of finding the perfect sunrise someday. Even the most tourist-attracting sunrises haven’t found a way to their hearts yet. Chan remembers Hansol following them for the first two or three sunrises or so, but Hansol sleeps like the dead, so their band of sunrise-watchers became two almost too quickly.

Technically, they’re not allowed to move outside of the train for safety reasons, but Chan and Seungkwan have always been a little exploitative of their new status. The storm-like winds outside greet Chan like a morning slap to the face. He hugs his jacket like a lifeline, blinking the droplets of soft morning rain out of his eyes as Seungkwan raises his hand. The winds still to a slow breeze, tickling Chan’s cheeks as the rain falls into their pocket of calm. He whisks a portal over their heads as a makeshift rain cover, teleporting the precipitation under the train as soft orange rays peek out from behind the Jin-Li’s rolling hills. The train bumps ever so slightly, tossing Chan off balance for a split second. Seungkwan grabs his wrist, steadying Chan as Chan finds his footing and leans against the car.

“I’m not sure this one’s breaking the top twenty,” Chan grumbles to himself. Seungkwan snickers.

“You’re just a—”

“What are you two doing?!” A loud voice calls out from the other side of the cabin door. Seems even booking the last cabin of the train wasn’t enough as Chan spots one of the staff staring at them with horror through the half-opened door window. Chan grins, flashing the woman a grin and mock salute.

“Morning! We’re good here,” Chan shouts as Seungkwan fishes out an  _ alium _ badge to show her. The woman stares at the badge with wonder, hesitating and glancing at the door to the other cabins nervously. A small part of Chan feels bad for the poor lady just trying to do her job. He ultimately ignores it, as tradition is tradition, no matter where they are.

“Please don’t take long! Breakfast is at seven, although you’re two hours early,” She finally decides on, struggling to slide the window open as she ducks back in. Chan turns to help her, but Seungkwan spins his shoulders around to face the sky instead.

“It’s coming!” Seungkwan exclaims. A blob of orange rises over the edge of green hills, colouring the navy canvas behind it a warm hue as it chases the dark night away. Chan can see the stars fade away while wisps of clouds chase them like fairies whisking the night pixies away for the day. The last one they had at Baoyang wasn’t particularly special, more of a blur tucked away in Chan’s mind, despite the wonderful view. This one, from the point of view of a valley deep inland on a bumpy train that would surely ruin the view, not to mention the morning rain, seems to shine infinitely brighter, like a memory etching itself in Chan’s brain. Chan wonders if Hansol would’ve liked this one, staring at the purple-and-orange blend sneaking up on the waking world. Seungkwan’s hand finds its way to Chan’s shoulder, leaning his weight against Chan and there’s a different twinge to his gut. Like tasting a lemon after eating nothing but honey, Chan feels his throat seize up as words start to threaten to spill out. There’s something raw about this sunrise, in its imperfect and harsh form. Chan finds himself leaning on Seungkwan, head tucked on his shoulder as a smile snakes its way to his face. A tradition that will never break, no matter where they go. It survived Jin-Li’s harshest war. It’ll live on forever.

“It’s just like before we went to the front lines, huh?” Chan mumbles. Seungkwan nods along, humming nonchalantly. They stand there for a few more moments, basking in the morning coolness as Seungkwan starts humming a tune from that new song he’s been in love with. It’s a soft love song about appreciating the present and a long-time lover, and Chan can’t help but feel the song’s emotions dancing on the sky like a ripple of water on a serene lake.

“ _ When did you become such a precious person to me? _ ” Seungkwan sings, his voice soft. There’s a twinge of sadness to his words, like a forgotten memory being dug out from the attic. Chan frowns, can’t help but notice how out of place it is. Seungkwan’s never been the lovesick type, but Chan can venture a guess how lonely he’d be all these years. After all, everyone and their mothers seemed to have found a way to settle down. Chan squeezes Seungkwan’s hand lightly, feeling a surge of protectiveness as a pang of relatability hits him.

“ _ I hope my heart reaches you, _ ” Seungkwan continues, squeezing Chan’s hand back as the last bits of the sun finally peeks out. Chan sighs, wishing that one of these days, they’ll have their sunrise too.

Minghao is there to greet them when the pair arrives at the station. Unlike Chan’s other rather, ah, enthusiastic unit members, Minghao just gives them a soft hug and hair ruffle. The station’s stale air seems almost refreshing at the sight of Minghao and his uncharacteristic cheesy sign with Chan and Seungkwan’s name. The old clock that hangs from the ceiling of the bronze ceiling of the station rings to signal another hour passing as they sneak out of the station to avoid another Kangwon situation.

They pass by the bronze curves and colourful lines of shops that line the path from Central Station to the Capital  _ alium _ base. There’s an air of joviality, as if the news from Kangwon and Baoyang have yet to hit. A band of children run past them, laughing without care before pausing before Minghao and giving him an excited wave. Minghao gives the children a casual two-finger salute and a grin as they continue on their path. Chan gives him an eyebrow raise.

“Almost seventy percent of the  _ alium _ subdivision lives in the capital, Chan. The people aren’t worried about having a repeat of Baoyang and Kangwon here,” Minghao explains. Chan shakes his head.

“Not that. You’re quite the celebrity here, aren’t you?” Chan teases, ducking his head under a low lying branch as they continue. Minghao grins at him before turning back on the walking road, climbing the steep slopes that made up the capital. Really, Jin-Li has too many hills. The dark street lamps that line the side of the road even seem to be in a good mood, carrying hosts of pigeons as sunlight seems to dance on their bronze cover. Seungkwan starts humming a tune, jovial in nature as they walk on the streets of Jin-Li’s untouched capital.

“Have you heard what happened at Kangwon yesterday?” Minghao asks, striking up a conversation. Chan frowns, cocking his head as his brows furrow.

“No? What happened?”

Minghao grins, fishing his holopad from his pocket as he swipes up a message and hands it to Seungkwan. Seungkwan accepts it gingerly, opening the message and scanning it quickly before his eyes widen almost comically. Chan frowns.

“What?” Chan asks again, annoyance in his tone.

“The others are coming to the capital to plan a proactive strike. They caught one in Kangwon and she broke. We have locations for twenty-five bases in enemy territory,” Minghao explains, almost excited. He’s never been the type to like war, but Chan’s never seen Minghao let go of a grudge. His ultimate downfall, Chan remembers Seungcheol calling it once, lighting a fire in his eyes and fueling the passion in Minghao’s core. His village was one of the first casualties of the war if Chan’s memory serves, and Minghao only barely managed to get revenge. Chan’s not sure if this new grudge is unresolved flames from the war or a newfound urge to protect. They suddenly make a left turn, away from the main street to the _alium_ base and deeper into the city. Chan frowns, giving Minghao a confused look.  
“Where are we going?” Seungkwan asks, staring at the small streets in wonder. Chan shares his sentiment, staring at the crisscross of tree branches that created a grand canopy over this section of the city. The Capital was sometimes called the Canopy City, with its thousand-year-old trees and leafy canopy that covered most of the city. Bulbs of colourful lights hang from the ceiling, dotting the darker corners of the cities. Chan stares at them in wonder, distinctly not recollecting ever seeing the array of lights that lit up Jin-Li’s heart.

“They only finished installing them about a week ago,” Minghao supplies. Chan nods absentmindedly, entirely too focused on the display in front of him. Seungkwan nudges him slightly, gesturing at one of the thicker sections of the canopy. A small boy sat atop a hoverboard fiddles with one of the lights, a workers uniform on him. He pulls something out of his pocket, a small cylindrical vial the size of a water bottle and tucks it into the lamp. There’s a fizzle of current around the bulb before it flickers to life, a dim yellow light casting onto the streets below. Chan’s eyes widens in amazement, much to Seungkwan’s amusement.

“You’ve seen holographic projections, human enhancements to be able to manipulate basically anything and literal time machines, and you’re impressed by a lamp?” Seungkwan teases. Chan’s cheeks dust red in embarrassment, but Boo Seungkwan is the last person Chan would admit that to. He meets Minghao’s amused glance and sticks his tongue out at him.

“When’s everyone getting here?” Chan asks, trying to redirect the conversation. Minghao rolls his eyes at Chan.

“Next week, if I can get the portal online in time. All the other major hubs are ready,” Minghao says, pulling a bunch of… bits of junk out of his pocket. His hands fiddle with them, ever the inventor as he assembles something together. His wrists twist, flinging a small rod of metal into the air temporarily as he continues fiddling. His magnetic hands fit the metal rod into the middle of his new contraption. Chan stares at him in wonder.

“What’s that?” Chan asks. Minghao shrugs.  
“Junk, for now. I’ll work on it after,” Minghao comments off-handedly, looking up to narrowly dodge bumping into someone. He slows to a stop at the next building, rustic design of bronze and wood. It blends into the colourful city with the splatters of paint on its face, as if someone dumped a bucket of colours over the building and didn’t blend the paint in properly, leaving splotches of ‘organized chaos,’ as Minghao would probably tell him. Chan guesses this is their destination.

Minghao swings open the door, revealing an open warehouse of sorts. The lights outside filter into the building behind partially clear curtains, touching on the cacophony of machinery that littered around the ground floor. Chan spots a stairway to his left, presumably leading to the living quarters, nudging Seungkwan to gesture towards their destination. Minghao drops his half-complete project on a nearby workbench, squatting down in front of a small box to dig something out. Chan decides to leave him at it. As with all geniuses, Minghao’s attention is a little hard to get when he’s got an idea. Chan would know. He used to date one.

“I can practically see Hansol in here,” Seungkwan comments off-handedly. Chan chuckles, expecting his heart to squeeze at the mention of his name. Hansol’s always been the type to spend hours on end at a workshop, constructing new gear or machines to make people’s life easier. Chan remembers the countless afternoons spent under the faulty lights in their old  _ alium _ base, watching Hansol try to figure out how to make his passion project. The device now rests in Chan’s backpack as Hansol’s last wish, something akin to a burden for Chan, yet also something to free him. It’s odd how the twist that used to pinch his gut is more of a dull pain now, wallowing in the pit of his stomach like undigested food. Seungkwan shoots him a curious look as they climb the spiral staircase.

“What’s on your mind?” Seungkwan asks although he doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer. Chan gives him a soft smile.

“Hansol would’ve loved it here, huh?” Chan replies, much to Seungkwan’s surprise. Seungkwan returns a smile, walking over the banister that separates the second floor from the open scheme of the first floor. Chan joins him, staring at the one friend he’s dragged all throughout Jin-Li for an impromptu goose hunt. He leans against Seungkwan’s side, feeling Seungkwan’s tense up as their eyes meet. Chan feels guilt pile in his chest, wondering if he’ll ever be able to pay Seungkwan back.

“Do you remember the night of the ball?” Seungkwan asks, seemingly out of nowhere. Chan grimaces, the memory pouring out of his vault like a hole in a dam.

“My first date? Of course, I do,” Chan replies. Chan leans back, reminiscing the memories of the grand room, lit by a crystalline chandelier that touched every corner of the room with a delicate kiss. He remembers the scent of the rose perfume everyone was wearing that night, diluted by the fresh breeze when Hansol whisked him outside. He remembers their hesitance, how Chan wondered if he could ever hold back the urge to just kiss Hansol in front of a million people. Ultimately, it had been Seungkwan who pushed Hansol against him out of annoyance. Chan watches Seungkwan now, wishing he had tried a little harder to help Seungkwan find someone too. The world is too big for someone to face alone, after all.

“I sometimes wonder if you two would’ve ever found the courage had I not been there,” Seungkwan mumbles, teasing yet so utterly longing in his tone. Chan hesitates, staring at Seungkwan in confusion. Seungkwan refuses to meet his gaze, choosing to stare at Minghao's work instead. Chan feels a lump forming in his throat.

“We spent four years pinning, so I doubt it,” Chan replied, eyeing Seungkwan. He thinks their relationship is so easily summed up in these odd moments, teasing with serious intent. Like walking on eggshells but hanging from a safety harness, where the comfort they’ve built with each other for years cushion a possible fall that could break everything. They say the lifelong friends are worth a million first loves, and Chan can’t help but agree. He can’t imagine not having Seungkwan around.

But then again, he thought the same about Hansol, yet the void in his chest seems to be knitting itself back together too well. He thinks about the time machine in his backpack, wondering if he can even dare to use it at the expense of the eleven other people he holds so dear to his heart.

“Can you even move on to someone else?” Seungkwan wonders aloud. Chan purses his lips in thought. He thinks of the memories of a lifetime he’s made, a blissful decade that ended too quickly for his taste. He thinks of all the other people he’s met, from prickly Jihoon to amicable Seokmin, wondering if he could meet someone as wonderful as Hansol. He glances over at Seungkwan, and there’s a flash of realization in him.

“Maybe,” Chan mumbles, dismissing the thought. It wouldn’t be fair.

After all, Chan can’t possibly get lucky a second time.

“If you two are just going to sit there for the next hour, could you at least pass me the wrench?” Minghao calls out to Chan and Seungkwan. Chan looks up from Hansol’s notebook in his hand, pencil still in his mouth as a look of annoyance flash over his features. Seungkwan takes the opportunity to snatch the notebook from Chan’s hands holding it up to the light as he squints. Chan whips his head around, shooting a Seungkwan a brief glare as he catches Seungkwan’s teasing smile.

“We’re doing research, mind you,” Chan grumbles but tosses Minghao the wrench on the nearest workbench to him nonetheless. He doesn’t quite aim, teleporting it in front of Minghao’s hands as he gives him a pointed look. Minghao rolls his eyes.

“What are you going to learn from there? Sol writes in cryptic metaphors and scribbles,” Minghao comments off-handedly, turning around to twist a screw tighter on the large gate in the center of the room. Before Chan can respond, Seungkwan’s overdramatic sigh echoes in the large workshop, plopping on his back as he carelessly tosses Hansol’s notebook to his side.

“He’s right. There’s nothing here,” Seungkwan summarizes glumly. Minghao smirks to himself, turning around to point at a bronze orb on the workbench next to Chan. It flies over to him like a bird flying towards a storm, stopping neatly in the block of wires and odd bits. Chan stares at him in vague interest.

“Is that the gate?” Chan asks. Minghao gives a curt nod, although his usual work look has taken over his face again. Seungkwan gets up and stretches, absorbing the sunlight dusting in through the semi-transparent curtains as he gives Chan a sympathetic smile.

“Coffee, Hao?” Seungkwan calls, receiving nothing but a short shrug that Chan can’t tell if it’s just Minghao shifting into a more comfortable position than an agreement. Seungkwan, unlike Chan, is much more observant, taking it as a ‘yes’.

“I saw a shop yesterday, wanna come?” Seungkwan offers. Chan spots Minghao giving him a brief glance, obviously not as absorbed in work as he usually is. As terrible as Chan is with humans, he can at least read the signs in this one. He waves Seungkwan’s offer off.

“Nah, I’m lazy today. Caramel Macchiato for me?” Chan replies. Seungkwan nods, giving Minghao and Chan a curious look. Ultimately, he decides against saying anything, walking out of the workshop and closing the door with a soft click. Chan stares at him leaving with mild curiosity, wondering why Minghao sent him out.

“Could you look for the dimension shifter? It’s a little purple ring I left on workbench three. I’m not sure which box though,” Minghao calls out. Chan sighs.

“I’m not here to be your busboy,” Chan grumbles, reluctantly running over to the workbench anyway. He shifts through the nearest musty old box, filled with old photographs and camera films. Curiously, he gingerly picks up one of the frames, a broken glass cover in a rotting frame of wood housing a torn piece of paper of Minghao, Junhui and another girl. Chan stares at the girl’s face with confusion, not recalling either of his teammates ever mentioning a girl.

“That’s Jieqioung,” Minghao supplies, practically breathing down Chan’s neck as he looks over his shoulder. Chan jumps, punching Minghao’s gut area before Minghao’s quick reflex saves him from the strike. The tiniest smirk blooms on his face, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You’ve gotten slower,” Minghao notes. Chan rolls his eyes.

“My guard was down. Who’s Jieqioung?” Chan diverts. Minghao’s eyes lose focus for the slightest second, the corners of his lips twitching.

“An old friend. Junnie was closer to her than me,” Minghao replies curtly, walking past Chan to dig out the purple ring from another box. Chan raises an eyebrow.

“She was an airship pilot, not an alium,” Minghao relents. “Lost her life on the frontlines. This used to be her place.”

Chan mouths a soft ‘ah’, setting the picture down as he continues to peer into the cardboard box.

“Did you just take all of her stuff and stuffed it into a box?” Chan asks, finding an ace award, three certificates and a framed diploma that read ‘Zhou Jieqioung, a graduate of Jin-Li Flight Academy. Top honours.’

“Only the stuff with her pictures. I’m still freeloading her silverware,” Minghao calls from the center of the room, already back to assembling the FastTravel gate. Chan wonders why he doesn’t call for help from the other aliums. Minghao isn’t one to miss deadlines, but surely he’d want some comfortable error room in his deadline? Then again, Minghao hates having someone else take the blame for anything, much less a missed deadline. He’s always been the fiercely protective one in their unit, refusing to ever let a member risk their own life when he could volunteer for the solo missions. Chan remembers more than a few sleepless nights hearing Jisoo and Minghao argue through the thin walls about how he can’t keep taking on missions. The strike team was technically under Soonyoung’s control, but the team was just Seungcheol, Jisoo and Jeonghan’s way of making sure Minghao didn't get himself killed on missions behind enemy lines.

“Do you miss her?” Chan asks, careful not to step on the landmines littered on the floor. Literally and figuratively. Minghao keeps explosives a little too close to his work, more than what is probably legal, but he’s probably abusing his alium privileges to bend the rules. They all do, to be frank.

“I guess. She died before I joined Seventeen. It’s been a while,” Minghao replies, appearing focused on his work, but Chan just saw him screw, unscrew and screw again the same screw, so Chan takes it as a cue to continue questioning.

“What was she like?” Chan asks tentatively. Minghao hums off-handedly, finally moving on to connecting copper wires.

“Optimistic, I guess,” Minghao says, sounding like it was more to himself than to Chan, “Ridiculously smart, a social butterfly and one of those idealists you’d see give speeches every year. She was much less boring, though.”

Chan gives him an odd stare. “I’m guessing she was more than just an old friend?” Chan asks hesitantly. Minghao rolls his eyes, refocusing on his work.

“You guess?” Minghao scoffs. Chan continues digging through another box, fishing out an aviator jacket that looked eerily like the one Wonwoo/Soonyoung gave him. He dusts off the material, shaking it slightly as a small ring falls out from the pocket. Chan freezes, glancing at Minghao questionably before bending down and gingerly grasping the small band of silver.

“Was she…” Chan starts. Minghao shakes his head, holding up his pinky, where an identical ring rests.

“Junnie got it for us. Friendship rings,” Minghao assures. Chan mouths a soft ‘ah’, placing the ring gently back in the fraying pockets of the threadbare jacket, dusting off the workbench and draping the fabric over it. He moves onto another box, absentmindedly rummaging as he continues questioning Minghao.

“What’s it like… moving on, I guess?” Chan asks. Minghao smiles softly.

“There’s the question,” he mumbles, leaning back to examine his work. Chan continues running his fingers along the bottom of the box, keeping a steady eye on Minghao’s reaction.

“What do you mean?” Chan questions. Minghao throws him an exasperated glance.

“Why’d you think Hansol sent you my way? Or any of the others, really?” Minghao points out. Chan falters, pursing his lips as he draws up the list. Jihoon, Soonyoung, Jisoo, Hangyeol and Minghao, a rather diverse cast Chan’s not quite sure to have something in common. Minghao returns to twisting copper wires.

“If it helps, Sol asked Mingyu to help him with the whole schpeel too, but I heard he gave Jihoon the first clue instead,” Minghao supplies. Chan hums without thought, trying to piece their connections together. Mingyu’s practically destroyed by guilt, Soonyoung has two other babysitters trying to stop regret from consuming him, Jisoo’s endless positivity is fueled by his undying love for his teammates and Hangyeol looks at the future with gratitude to the memory of the past. Minghao, on the other hand, seems to have perfectly adjusted with loss. Chan supposes the motive is transparent.

“Does it really get better with time?” Chan wonders aloud. Minghao nods gingerly.

“It helps to have someone to move on with. Junnie’s good at keeping the mood light, if you indulge in the head pats,” Minghao comments. Chan’s thoughts drift to Seungkwan, so open and ready for whatever Chan needs to vent about. Chan wonders if the sentiment is returned. He watches Minghao look up from his work to glance at the door, no sign of Seungkwan returning. Minghao hesitates for a moment, as if internally debating his advice.

“Rely on the people you’ve got now, Chan,” Minghao settles on saying, “Jisoo is a prime example.”

Chan cocks his head. “You seem to be doing well,” he points out. Minghao shrugs.

“I wouldn’t say solitary is particularly healthy,” Minghao responds quietly, picking up the purple ring and staring at Chan.

“Can I see that time machine of yours?” Minghao asks. Chan hesitates.

“It’s not really mine…” Chan mumbles. Minghao shoots him a sympathetic smile. The smell of coffee wafts in through the front door, accompanying the soft click as the door slowly shifts open. Minghao shoots Chan a look of encouragement, and Chan gives him the slightest nod, walking over to the time machine tucked on the workbench near his old spot and handing Minghao the contraption. As Seungkwan bursts through the door with a tray of three coffee cups, Minghao fits the purple ring onto the top of the machine, enlarging it as purple energy engulfs the machine. It shrinks, condensing into a small charm-sized device. Minghao hands Chan the purple ring.

“What’s going on?” Seungkwan calls, walking over to hand them their coffees. Chan gives him a brief glance before snatching a small copper wire from a nearby workbench and looping the time machine into the necklace’s front. He pulls it over Seungkwan’s head, much to Seungkwan’s confusion. His eyes narrow, head tilting ever so slightly as he allows Chan to settle the necklace on his neck. Chan pauses, noticing how perfect it looks on Seungkwan. His dusty black jacket matches perfectly with the black accents on the machine, light brown copper reflecting off his face. Chan gives him a soft smile, feeling content spread in his chest as Minghao scoffs as silently as humanly possible.

“I’m relying on you for this quest,” Chan answers earnestly.

Chan spends the next three afternoons rifling through Jieqioung’s stuff with Seungkwan. Minghao tells them old stories like a grandpa watching his kids sort through family heirlooms. There’s always the lingering hesitance in Minghao’s voice, a cross between sadness and contentment that seems to swarm him. Chan always wonders if time helps. Minghao always gives an indirect answer. They effectively clean up the base in their exploration, sweeping off the dust on the last day as Chan sorts through the final box. Minghao’s gate is nearly done, a whole day before the deadline. Seungkwan volunteers to go pick up extra mattresses and blankets before the whole unit regathers, leaving Chan to wrestle with Minghao’s impeccable talent with duct tape alone. Bastard.

“You can stop a bullet with the amount of duct tape you use,” Chan grunts, tearing off the last layer of duct tape. Minghao snorts, only partly paying Chan attention as he lines the side on his teleportation gate with some kind of tape. Mingaho’s the type to take ‘duct tape solves everything’ seriously, so Chan suspects it’s even more duct tape.

“You flatter me,” Minghao mumbles, wrapping the tape around the last section of the circular gate. Chan gives him a look of exhaustion.

“You can’t be serious about holding that together with duct tape,” Chan deadpans. Minghao rolls his eyes.

“It’s not duct tape,” Minghao drawls as if he’s explaining a rubber ball to a five-year-old, “It’s highly resistant, magic absorbent and conductive to improve the flow of energy but still prevents the magic from clogging the system.”

“So improved duct tape,” Chan summarizes. Minghao sighs, exasperated.  
“I can’t believe you’re just stuffing her stuff in a corner like that,” Minghao mutters to himself, side-eyeing Chan. Chan rolls his eyes.

“I can’t believe you think your dead girlfriend’s stuff is a good house decoration,” Chan counters. Minghao glares at him.

“She wasn’t my girlfriend, Chan,” Minghao sighs.

“Because you’re a coward,” Chan points out.

“Because I didn’t have number one matchmaker Boo Seungkwan,” Minghao counters, placing his roll of magic duct tape on a nearby table and picking up a small metal orb. Chan pauses his rummaging, staring at Minghao as he fits it into the middle of the arc, at the apex point of the gate’s height. He steps back, inspecting his work as a satisfied smile worms onto his face. He’s smiling more often every year, Chan notices. The Minghao he met nearly a decade ago had the emotional variety of an angsty teenage rock band.

“Does it get better with time?” Chan asks, the punctuation on their daily routine as he folds the last set of Jieqioung’s numerous jackets into a pile to put away. The fading sunlight rests on Minghao’s hair like the storm cloud that hangs on Chan’s shoulder, heavy yet comforting as his smile wavers ever so slightly.

“I’d say so,” Minghao finally responds, glancing at Chan with a sad smile. He’s not fully recovered, Chan notes, even after all the years. Chan wonders if he’ll ever be.

“But you don’t start healing until you decide to allow yourself to move on,” Minghao continues, swiping his hair back as he walks to the control booth. He pulls his holopad from his pocket, dialling up the rest of their unit as the familiar tune of the obnoxious song Soonyoung, Seokmin and Seungkwan used to blast everywhere rings out first. Chan stares at him in slight awe.

“It gets my attention the quickest,” Minghao explains, teasing tone in his voice. Chan snorts.

“That’s not what I meant,” Chan says as Minghao cracks a cheeky grin.

“I know.”

The call connects, cutting off the rest of their conversation as the teleportation gate hums to life. Chan walks over to Minghao’s side, smiling as Seungcheol’s face pops into view.

“Seungcheol! You’re okay!” Chan exclaims, glad to see his leader back on his feet. Seungcheol gives him a lopsided grin.

“They couldn’t take me down in ten years of war, Chan, what makes you think they can do it now?” Seungcheol responds as a loud whirring sound echoes in the background of the call. He turns to Minghao.

“See you in a bit! Dinner’s on me tonight!” Seungcheol signs off, turning off the video call as the first figures form in the portal doorframe. Chan bounces over excitedly, tackling the first person that comes through. Thankfully, Mingyu is on the stronger side, wrapping his arms around Chan’s waist as he steadies the barreling force and sets him to the side.

“Gyu! How’s it going?” Chan exclaims, practically jumping on Mingyu. Jisoo jumps out of the portal next, immediately colliding with Chan and Mingyu as they end up in a pile on the floor. More members flood through like a tsunami, pausing for a moment to straighten their bearings before exploding in a chorus of ‘I miss you!’s and ‘You still owe me!’s. Minghao tries to shy away from the rather explosive gathering, slinking behind the control booth as Jisoo’s hawk-like eye catches him, running over to give him the good old death squeeze of affection.

“You’ll never guess who showed up last minute today,” Mingyu yells at Chan over the chaos of Seokmin, Jisoo and Jeonghan’s, ah, displays of affection for Minghao. Chan gives Mingyu a look of confusion.

“Who?” he asks, scanning the room. Jisoo, Jeonghan, Seokmin and Seungcheol are collectively playing a game of ‘how flustered can Minghao get’, gathered in the center of the room as shouts echo in the air. He looks over to the portal gate, spotting a figure he hasn’t seen in too long and a smile blooms on Chan’s face.

“Jihoon?!” Chan exclaims, scrambling towards Jihoon, who wears a fond smile under his chic pose leaning against the portal gate.

“I can’t let you idiots rush into probable death alone,” Jihoon says in lieu of a greeting, ever the clipped and tsundere that he is. Before Chan can respond, the pager in his jacket pocket beeps with vehement intensity, a shrill sound crying out as he fumbles for the tiny device. Jihoon gives him a confused stare.

“Is that—” Jihoon starts, getting cut off as the sound of an airship engine roars over the workshop. Chan can hear Minghao’s exasperated sigh as Chan clicks the communication portal on the pager.

“Where do we land?!” Soonyoung’s overexcited voice rings out in the commlink. Minghao pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Preferably outside of city grounds, or they’re going to come for my ass!” Minghao yells back. Chan can practically hear Soonyoung’s grin.

“Your skinny ass?!” Soonyoung yells back, cracking the room up.

“Just do it, idiot,” Jihoon cuts in, a grin on his face, “Or I’m making you do the paperwork in Hao’s stead!”

Soonyoung is silent. Involuntarily, Chan leans in to hear his response.

“Jihoon?!” Wonwoo’s voice echoes back, incredulous as the airship sounds from above start top fade as they leave city airspace. Jihoon’s grin widens.

“The one and only. Now go before you give the city a heart attack!” Jihoon yells at him, shutting off the commlink as the front door of the workshop bursts open. Seungkwan peeks in, a floating ball of mattresses behind him as he gives the room a tentative glance.

“Was that Soonyoung—”

“Seungkwan!” Seokmin yells barreling through the workshop with the rest of them, save for Minghao and Chan, on his tail as they tackle Seungkwan in a hug. Chan would never believe they just saw each other two weeks ago. Then again, Unit Seventeen has been known for their dramatic tendencies. Chan watches the reunion scene with a flutter in his heart. There’s a certain emptiness to realizing their numbers are just twelve now, but he finally gets what Minghao means the first day Chan talked with him.

He’d rely on these eleven stitches in his heart any day.

“Chan, left flank,” Seungcheol’s voice echoes over Chan’s head, ringing in the air as Chan flips into the air to avoid a calculated swing of Mingyu’s left hook. He teleports behind Mingyu, digging his heels into the ground as he ducks, a blast of Soonyoung’s fire narrowly burning the hair on the back of his head as he blocks Mingyu’s retaliation swing. Seungcheol makes a ‘tsk’ sound and snaps his finger, making Chan’s back straighten immediately as he turns to Seungcheol, panting.

“You’re too focused on front and back, flanks are the oldest tricks in the book,” Seungcheol calls out. Chan nods, inhaling as he recomposes himself. Seungcheol nods in approval.

“Again.”

Chan isn’t a fan of crowd training per se, with its hyper-realistic setting and the exhaustion that soaks his bones. Chan parries and blocks for what seems like forever, between Soonyoung’s mid-range, area control fire blasts and Mingyu’s hyper-speed lightning punches. Chan thinks his neatly trimmed hair will be more than a little signed by the end of today. Soonyoung’s admittedly a little sloppier with less practice against real people, a more broad and heavy fighting style worming its way to his old zoning-style of fighting that surely was born from fighting the cursed storm spirits. Seungcheol takes note, the furrow on his brow deepening as his eyes shine with light green energy. If Chan didn’t know better, he would’ve assumed Seungcheol’s power was a hyper-battle sense, with how he can so quickly dissect their every movement and thought to give advice.

“Foot angle is dragging your momentum, again.”

There’s a kind of addiction that comes with practicing that worms its way into Chan’s muscles by force of habit. His body is the mortar as each run through becomes the pestle. There’s a part of Chan that welcomes the distraction, slipping away from the monotonous drone of Hansol’s quest to do what he knows. He wonders what will happen when he can no longer keep up on the battlefield, reinforced by the realization of how fast Chan’s skills are dulling without constant practice. Then again, Chan never liked thinking about the future. There’s something dastardly depressing about realizing how easily you can be forgotten under the flimsy wrap of hope they shine on the future. Chan much prefers the present. At least this is something he can control.

“You’re twisting too much. Your stamina won’t be able to keep you on for longer than a few minutes. Strafe more. Again.”

He lets the comfortable haze take over, a mess of instinct and reflexes clouding his mind as Chan’s thoughts drift elsewhere. He remembers the taste of ash and fire in the air, the ever-familiar pump of dread and adrenaline in his veins as Chan stood on the battlefield that day. The hope that they carried at what could have been Jin-Li’s last stand brought them the long-awaited victory, even at the cost of something much greater. Mingyu strikes at Chan’s blindspot, to which Chan easily sidesteps as he teleports a sprout of flame away from him. There’s a certain edge of anger to Mingyu and Soonyoung’s swings, internal turmoil colouring their every attack as Chan dodges a shared attempt. He meets Seungcheol’s eyes for the briefest of seconds, feeling the weight of his leader’s gaze as the frown on his face deepens. Chan wonders why his sparring partners are Soonyoung and Mingyu today. Usually, Seungcheol would choose a long and a close-range fighter, or two mid-range fighters to simulate a more balanced and efficient matchup.

“Fight with your brain, not your emotions. Again,” Seungcheol continues, grinding the joints in Chan’s tired body as they continue. There’s a pang in his chest as his mind refocuses, noticing the patterns in Soonyoung and Mingyu’s attacks. Soonyoung, who failed to see the big picture when his emotions made him save the one linchpin sacrifice they needed to turn the war around, adopts a more taken back approach to his fighting. More aware. More careful. More terrifying. Mingyu, on the other hand, focuses almost entirely on his speed, the fast, rapid motions coupled with his usual strong brawler type movements create a death ball of sorts. He’s the one who could save someone in time, the residues of guilt and self-loathe in his irises Chan would never have guessed came from the giant puppy human that is Mingyu.

In a way, the two bright spots of their team have grown colder, and Chan’s not sure he entirely dislikes the new frostbite.

In one final burst of energy, Chan secures Soonyoung’s double-edged sword and pins it to the ground for a brief moment, ending the sparring session as Seungcheol claps slowly.

“Better,” he says, smiling softly at Chan, “Get some rest, guys. Jisoo, Minghao, Junhui, you're up next. Minghao, take center.”

Chan nods in compliance, dragging his aching body inside Minghao’s place. The courtyard behind the workshop is lined with fallen columns and vines, looking more like a historic site than a supposed training ground, but Minghao insists it’s the best place they’ve got. Apparently, training rooms in the Capital’s alium base is near impossible to book.

“Water?” Seungkwan offers Chan, sitting on a makeshift deck chair he stole from the kitchen. Chan gives him a weak smile and accepts it, plopping all over Seungkwan’s thighs as he drapes his body on Seungkwan. A laugh rings out in the air.

“Ya! You’re sweaty!” Seungkwan whines, shoving Chan off as he is begrudgingly floated to another chair. Chan unscrews his water bottle, swallowing half of the contents before teleporting it back onto the coffee table.

“It’s just like old times, isn’t it?” Seungkwan comments, watching Jisoo and Junhui bombard Minghao with a flurry of blood and ice. Chan stares at them without really paying attention.

“Almost,” Chan mumbles back. Seungkwan’s smile turns wistful, the wisps of contentment spoiling into lines of sadness and Chan hates the twist in his gut at the sight.

“They’ve really changed, haven’t they?” Seungkwan echoes. Chan nods, wondering if there is a world where they don’t change. Where the lingering cloud of emptiness from missing one member permanently wouldn’t be there. Chan wonders if they would’ve lost more innocents in that world.

“Do you think I should pull the trigger when the time comes?” Chan asks, voice small. The cloudy sky hides any sliver of sunlight today, a dull gray covering the world as it fuels the ache in Chan’s chest. Seungkwan bites his bottom lip.

“That’s up to you,” Seungkwan replies back, avoiding the question. Chan doesn’t push. It’s a tradition he keeps alive for the sake of their friendship. Never push unless absolutely necessary. Chan sighs.

“It’s cold today, isn’t it?” Chan mumbles. Seungkwan’s lips quirk up.

“We’re just getting old.”

_ Sniff. _

“Are you crying right now?” Minghao’s voice echoes throughout the room, soothing yet teasing.

Silence.

“Maybe?” Junhui’s shaky voice echoes back. Chan pauses in his track, carton of strawberry milk in his hand and the fridge door still open as he furrows his brow. He gently clicks the fridge door close, teleporting behind an automaton as he perks his ears up.

“I can’t believe she kept the cat,” Junhui mutters, hints of tears in his tone. Chan can practically hear Minghao’s sad smile.

“I still can’t believe you got her a cat key charm for her graduation,” Minghao teases, evidently trying to lighten the mood. It’s a common theme with so many of them Chan realizes, the unwillingness to smile and be positive that’s balanced by teasing each other. Embarrassment is a great coping mechanism, Jisoo told Chan once, because it takes your mind off of the sad stuff to make room for the happier thoughts.

“Don’t you get lonely in such a big, empty workshop?” Junhui asks, redirecting the conversation. Chan wonders how long they’ve been up, a glance at the small clock on Minghao’s wall telling him it’s 2 AM right now.

“I’m fine. Dorming for four years with you and ten with the other guys is enough for me, and I still go out sometimes,” Minghao waves Junhui off.

“Your sometimes is once a month, Hao,” Junhui deadpans. Minghao snorts.

“Social interaction is overrated, and you guys visit way too often anyway.”

“You haven’t had guests since Chan and Seungkwan came here last week!”

“Like I said. Too often.”

Junhui huffs (or at least, Chan assumes it’s Junhui), falling into quiet, amicable silence as soft rustling takes over. Chan wonders if Junhui’s going to destroy his and Seungkwan’s meticulous organizing and cataloguing, before waving off the thought. This is Junhui, not Mingyu and Seungcheol. Their system will be fine.

The moonlight shines through the window in a soft curtain of silver and blue, gently grazing the ground and workbenches as Chan contemplates going back to bed. Obviously, he’s intruding on a rather personal moment. Before he can really move, the soft clink of a ring echoing on the ground rings out, causing Chan to draw a silent breath. The air freezes, and Chan curses internally as Minghao ducks over the automaton to spot him.

“Channie?” Minghao asks, pleasant surprise in his tone. Chan relaxes his shoulders, sheepish smile on his face.

“You guys were loud,” Chan makes a meek excuse. Junhui rolls his eyes.

“I don’t care for excuses and you should know that. Care to join the late night tea party?” Junhui says, grinning as he holds up a large, steaming mug of tea. Minghao rolls his eyes.

“You’re the only one drinking tea, Junnie,” Minghao points out. Junhui shrugs.

“Because you’re a coward who doesn’t drink caffeine from 6pm to 8am,” Junhui retorts. Minghao shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he looks at Chan.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of these self-destructing idiots too?” Minghao asks. Chan grins, holding up his strawberry milk carton as he shakes his head.

“Nah. I don’t like tea,” Chan replies, much to Junhui’s annoyance.

“Tasteless baboon, the lot of you.”

There’s something comforting in their 2 AM talks, Chan realizes, a soft reassurance of a somewhat normal instance for someone his age. As if Chan wasn’t a war hero and isn’t about to run into danger head first again. A soft silver glint flashes in the corner of his eyes as he notices the fallen ring dropped in front of a couch. There’s a human-sized lump on it, rising up and down evenly as Chan gives it a quick inspection. Hints of curled hair and too much gray hair in the normally black expanse brings a soft smile to his face as Chan sits down on a chair Minghao pulled up on him.

“Why’s Cheol here?” Chan asks. Junhui wags a finger in front of him.

“We don’t talk about ‘why’s at the tea party, Chan,” Junhui nags. Minghao, ever the helpful one, points to a small map on the table in front of the couch. Chan mouths a soft ‘ah’ as Junhui suk.

“Why does no one respect me in this team?” Junhui whines. Chan snorts.

“We only respect Jihoon, Junnie,” Chan points out, to which Junhui begrudgingly agrees on. Chan hands Minghao the small band of silver he picked up from the floor, who accepts it with a soft smile as he gently tucks it into a basket. Junhui hands him a mug of what looks like chocolate milk.

“You’re tense,” Junhui notes absentmindedly, holding his teacup up to his lips and blowing on it gently. Chan adds a tiny slouch to his posture, hoping to relax the apparent tension in his shoulders. Minghao gives him a sympathetic smile.

“Nervous?” Minghao asks, “You’ve done this for a decade.”

Chan shakes his head, fingers drumming along the side of his milk carton. He feels like a burning leaf in a forest fire, trapped between escaping with the wind to move into the new world and the comfort of the burning past. His thoughts drift to an easier time, when orders punctuate and define his days, filling the in-between with light hearted banter that Chan regarded as the peak of his life. He wonders if it was too late to tell that story in place of the one unfolding right now, wondering if he’ll be remembered more for that than for potentially reversing the tide of a past war.

“You’ll make the right choice, Chan,” Minghao reassures him. Chan shrugs.

“I know the right choice, but it hurts nonetheless,” Chan mumbles back, drooping his head down. Junhui appears out of the corner of Chan’s vision, a gentle hand patting Chan’s hair as he smiles, innocent and loving. He’s such a carefree and lovable soul, ever the happy pill their team needs. Chan wonders how he does it, losing one of the people who held so close and looking like the happiest person alive when Chan first met him. Impossibly, he looks even happier now.

“There’s two types of people when it comes to loss,” Junhui gently explains.

“The ones who can move on, and the ones stuck in the past,” Junhui gestures to Minghao who gives him a snort but doesn’t deny it. Junhui grins at Minghao. 

“But we have to accept it anyway. I don’t expect you to let him go so easily, but at least be satisfied with your decision when the time comes,” Junhui continues. Chan purses his lips.

“And what makes you one type and not another?” Chan asks. Junhui smiles mysteriously.

“Wonu is a great guy if you guys would let him school you a bit,” Junhui says, pouting, “And heartbreak is just not having enough distractions.”

“So you take a trip around the world instead?” Minghao interrupts, amusement in his tone. Junhui waves him off.

“We’re babysitting Soonyoung, it doesn’t count. And that’s not what I meant anyway.”

Chan tunes them out, blocking out the cacophony of noise from their bickering as he stares at the pink liquid in his drink. Chan wonders if anyone would even care enough to allow him the chance of slipping into Junhui’s group of post-loss lives, or would he regress into Minghao’s kind of life, existing between wistful sadness and soft content. Unconsciously, he runs his finger over his collarbone, wondering what the pendant with the little machine that caused so much of his problems feels like. He wonders what the burden feels like, a pit digging itself in his stomach at how he carelessly handed it to Seungkwan so easily. Seungkwan claims it’s okay, but Chan can’t help but wonder if he should’ve made someone else share his burden like that.

“Trust yourself a bit, Chan,” Minghao cuts Chan from his thoughts, seemingly reading his mind. Chan bites his bottom lip, hesitant. Junhui grabs the shell of Chan’s ear and tugs it gently, affection to his touch.

“You’ll never be a true adult if you keep on doubting yourself like that! You did what you did for a reason!” Junhui claims, a confidence in his tone Chan’s never known from himself. A smile fights its way to Chan’s face.

“Will you guys ever stop babying me?” Chan asks, sarcastic in nature, yet grateful in meaning. Minghao shakes his head.

“Never. Now could we move somewhere else before Cheol wakes up and gives us a scolding? I don’t want Soo and Hannie to find out we’re up this late.”

“Stick to the plan and we’ll win this, okay?” Seungcheol’s voice rings over the dropship hanger. There’s a slight bump in turbulence, causing Chan to rest his hand on the side of the ship to steady himself. Soonyoung is less lucky, thrown off his footing as Seokmin crashes into him. Seungkwan stops them moments from hitting the floor, sending out a gust of wind to right them. Seungcheol sighs.

“We were never polished anyway, this makes no difference, Cheol,” Jisoo reassures Seungcheol, although his tone is teasing and light-hearted. Seungcheol gives him a ‘really?’ look.

“Jisoo, Minghao, where are you two supposed to be?” Seungcheol suddenly announces, one final check.

“At the back of the ruins, stopping stragglers from escaping and warning if backup is coming. Laying down some cover fire if needed, but our position is not to be revealed,” Minghao repeats as if he’s a robot, his pre-combat mask settling in as he slots bullets into his sniper gun. He’s terrifying like this, all cold and unemotional. Mingyu rests a hand on Minghao’s shoulder and Minghao doesn’t even flinch, although he pats Mingyu’s hand back. Chan relaxes ever so slightly. Seungcheol nods.

“Soonyoung, Mingyu, Junhui and Wonwoo?” Seungcheol continues to quiz. Soonyoung flinches at his name, looking up from playing some kind of finger game with Seokmin. Seungcheol glares at him.

“On the front lines with you, bursting down the front doors of the old cathedral,” Junhui supplies, grinning at Soonyoung, who gives a curt nod. Seungcheol sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Jeonghan and Seokmin?” Seungcheol asks. Jeonghan intervenes before Seungcheol can properly glare at Seokmin.

“We’re holding down the back line, ready to jump in as a field medic,” Jeonghan calls out, simultaneously gripping Seungcheol’s shoulder and giving him a firm stare. Seungcheol’s a bit on the worrywart side, after all.

“And Chan, Jihoon and Seungkwan?” Seungcehol finishing, less tension is his voice. Chan smiles.

“Targeting from the roof and into the back rooms, ready to catch as many leadership positions as possible,” Jihoon answers him, exasperation in his tone. The tension in the air is palpable, a mix of exasperation, anticipation and anxiety that solidifies the air.

“And waiting for you to explode the place, boss,” Seungkwan calls out, humour to his tone. Instantly, the room cracks up at the sound of Seungcheol’s old (and most hated) nickname and habits. Even Seungcheol cracks a smile.

“Hey! I don’t do that anymore!” Seungcheol defends vehemently.

“I call against him! Dinner afterwards!” Soonyoung yells, cheeky excitement in his tone. Seungcheol turns to him, disbelief colouring his face, but Chan can spot the hint of gratitude in his mask. The rest of the room chimes in with bets, ranging from how long it’ll take to how many rows of pews he’ll break in one shot. Chan stares at Seungkwan in mild admiration, pausing only to call out his bet (if Choi Seungcheol doesn’t knock over at least seven rows, there’s no point). Seungkwan’s always been the moodmaker of the group, the one to spread amicable feelings before any big missions to calm the nerves. He looks especially proud of this joke, a natural comedian weaving his way into their group dynamic and Chan can’t help but note how Seungkwan fits seamlessly into the first group of post-loss people. Chan wonders who Seungkwan has to encourage him.

“Bullies, the whole lot of you!” Seungcheol calls out at one point, turning red as the group erupts into cackles. A beep ends their fun mood, signalling the nearing of their drop zone. Wonwoo’s voice crackles over the intercom.

“Drop zone incoming, everyone! Strikers off first,” Wonwoo calls, fixing the mood back to serious. It’s slightly more comfortable now, not so suffocating anymore. Chan shoots Seungkwan a grateful smile.

“And by the way, Seungcheol is totally going to blast every row and you know it!” Wonwoo yells before turning off his intercom, drawing an indignant cry from Seungcehol as the side door opens. Seungkwan gives Chan a pat on the back.

“Ready?” he asks. Chan nods. Together, they charge out, Jihoon on their tail as they leap into the clear sky. The sunlight catches Chan’s eyes in a bright flash before they reach the clouds. Almost instantly, the humid raindrops kiss Chan’s cheeks as the world turns gray. Seungkwan pushes the three of them closer to each other as they drop through the clouds, chasing away the winds for a free fall as he gives Chan the signal. Chan takes a deep breath, forming a small ball of energy in his hand as they drop into the visible light. He lobs it, Seungkwan’s winds aid the ball as it drops onto the ceiling. Jihoon covers them in a soft layer of energy, drawing bones from seemingly nowhere as Chan activates the teleport. The cage of remains (human? Animal? Something else? Chan doesn't question it) smash through the glass like a rocket through a piece of paper as they drop into a slower descent. A group of people jump at their presence, surprisingly prepared as they hop to their feet. Chan wonders if they knew the unit was coming before deciding against it. They could just be guards.

Instantly, Jihoon raises a mini army of skeletons from the ground and tackles the guards from all sides. Seungkwan moves next gathering up the collected winds from their fall and the storm to explode in one big knock back, causing the enemy to fall on their backs. A stray dart flies in their direction, a familiar shell to it as Chan flinches, teleporting it to the nearest wall and smashing its tip to pieces. Liquid pours all over the floor, seeping into Jihoon’s skeletons as they repair the cracks in century old remains. Jihoon growls.

“They won’t be down for long!” he warns. Chan takes the note, sliding off his weapons as they start fighting. Life was great for the next few minutes, blasting through enemies like paper dolls as they press on their advantage. But it wasn’t enough. According to their intel, an army lived in the catacombs of this old cathedral, and it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. Jihoon’s summons got slower, slowly favouring his scythe as they got overwhelming. Chan grits his teeth, pressing his back against Seungkwan and tapping him on the shoulder. Seungkwan gets the message, launching Chan into the air as Chan clenches his fist.

The entire ground disappears into a large void of black energy, clearing an entire wave as Chan teleports them high into the portal dimension. It’s a cruel fate, really. Chan’s been in the dimension once, only to barely return with his life intact. They sent him there, so it’s only fitting he returns the gesture. Another wave starts to settle in after the shock, but the moment of peace allows Seungkwan to spot the door to the back rooms, bursting it down with a gust of wind as Chan teleports Jihoon and him over to the door. People start screaming behind them, calling for blood as a loud boom rings over the room. Chan grins.

“That’s reinforcements! Let’s go!” Chan yells, darting into the room as the world explodes in an explosion of green energy. Sadly, Wonwoo wins the bet as their front liners burst into the building catching the army’s attention as Seungkwan pulls Chan through the tiny door.

“Someone’s getting away!” Seungkwan yells at them. Chan widens his eyes at the sight of a flash of red slips through a back door, instantly chasing after him.

“Chan, no!” Jihoon calls out, pushing Chan back at the last possible moment as a dart flies out of nowhere, sticking into Jihoon’s neck. The ever-familiar liquid settles into him like a sponge soaking up water and all Chan could do is stare.

Jihoon, the best fighter and striker Chan’s ever known, shrivelling up like a grape as the poison takes over, all because of  _ Chan’s _ carelessness. The one who plays with death like a piano, now at its mercy. Chan feels his chest tightens up, watching Jihoon scream in agony and—

“Go,” Jihoon hisses. Chan flinches. Jihoon’s figure flickers into black and dark green energy, erupting and flickering as Chan feels the ground tear open. Spirits and skeletons rise as Jihoon struggles to stand, glaring across the room at a little boy, terrified and cowering as his grip on a dart gun loosen. Jihoon growls and the boy's neck snaps, invisible hands grasping his skin as his eyes roll backwards.

“Chan, go catch the target!” Jihoon yells, kneeling as the poison takes over. Chan stares in disbelief guilt at his careless mistake washing over. Of course someone would hold the fort down while leadership slipped away! Anger colours his vision, tinting it red as he nods.

“Seungkwan, get Seokmin. Catch up to me after,” Chan orders, flaring up as he teleports the rest of the way to avoid any surprises. He doesn’t look back, blocking out Seungkwan’s cry as he pursues the target. He can’t let them get away. Not just like that. The last few stragglers who ran from the back room were quick and easy kills, a few teleports, rolls and clean slices and their heads rolled like lollipops on the ground. Chan’s anger keeps building, not dissipating until his last target is down. The chase continues into a cliff behind the cathedral, when the last three figures suddenly leap into the cliff below. Chan pauses in his tracks, instinctively raising his hands as an airship rises over the drop, powerful boosters whisking the ship away as Chan stares in disbelief. It gains altitude and Chan can feel the disappointment start to settle in as he realizes what’s happening. He can’t catch up to that kind of long range.

Suddenly, an explosion erupts on the side of the ships, so powerful it vibrates the air as the ship starts spiralling down to the ground. Chan peers a little closer, realizing a slice of pure solid air had cut through the ship and sliced it in half. Chan turns around, watching Seungkwan run up to him. Chan feels the first few droplets of tears crash over him, relief coursing as Seungkwan comes up. He’s yelling something, but Chan can’t hear. He opens his mouth, about to yell in joy before—

_ Click _ .

“Don’t move.”

Chan’s eyes widen, frozen as he feels the cool slide of a gun on his head.

“I said don’t move!” the voice calls out again, raspy and deep as Chan flinches. It’s directed at Seungkwan, Chan realizes as Seungkwan skids to a slow stop, pain in his expression.

“Put your weapons down!” the man yells. Slowly, Chan drops his two blades as Seungkwan places his rapier onto the grass. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes as he mouths a shaky ‘sorry’. The gun leaves his head, but Chan would be a fool to assume it wasn’t still trained on him. Chan feels his gut twist into a million knots as failure set in once again. He was slipping away!

No.

Chan refuses to go down like this.

Chan gathers the smallest bit of energy in his hand as he gives Seungkwan a determined look. Seungkwan shoots back the slightest look of confusion, before he realizes what Chan’s doing. Chan gives a slight nod, and Seungkwan starts to smile.

“Never underestimate your opponent!” Seungkwan calls, dropping his hand. The sound of a gun’s safety being clicked off rings in the air as Chan smirks.

“Wha—”

Chan drops the ball, teleporting him to the ground as Seungkwan fires off an air bullet as the man shoots. The bullets intercept mid air as Seungkwan charges at Chan. Chan grabs his moon-blades, firing off a stray shot as the man tries to aim again.

“Watch out!” Seungkwan yells, diving in front of Chan as the bullet fires. The world turns into slow motion as the bullet collides with its target, Chan’s eyes widening as Seungkwan dives in front of him, firing off another air bullet at the man.

This time, they don’t intercept.

Tears roll down Chan’s face like waterfalls. He’s screaming something, but he can’t tell what it is. A million thoughts stream through Chan’s head, all variations of guilt, anguish, disbelief and  _ praying _ it’s not true. The world fades to white noise, a constant drone as Chan feels the wind carrying his last reason to go on for away.

“I love you,” Seungkwan’s voice echoes in Chan’s ears, his last words.

Two bodies roll onto the ground, and Chan watches the world lose its colour as Seungkwan’s eyes flutter close.

For the first time ever in his life, Chan wonders if the sun could ever rise again.

.

.

.

_ “Chan!” Someone yells. _

_ Chan doesn’t hear them. _

_ Only his tears and those cursed three words, looping like a mantra. _

_ Plink. Plink. Plink. _

_ He grabs the tiny machine around Seungkwan’s neck, cursing himself and the world as he finally makes his choice. The right choice. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_ The sunrise on the horizon is red. _

_ Chan’s tears blurs the whole scene, exhaustion in his body. _

_ Everything is red. _

_ He needs to save him. _

_ There’s only one charge. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_ It worked? _

_ Why did it work? _

_ Wasn’t it missing something? _

.

.

.

_ The bullet ricocheted off the time machine this time, bronze coating deflecting the season piece of metal. _

_ It impales Seungkwan’s side, a nasty cut. _

_ But this time, there’s a faint pulse. _

.

.

.

_ “Hang in there! You aren’t gone yet!” _

_ A desperate cry. _

_ The heart line beeps a longer note. _

_ Silence. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_ “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please! I’m so sorry I—” _

_ “Don’t go. Please. I’m so sorry. Please! _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_ “I love you too.” _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

“I hate you,” Chan deapans. Seungkwan’s tired smile greets him for the first time in two weeks of silence. There’s inexplicable relief in Chan’s mind, but he can’t feel any of it as anger colours his vision, tears pricking for the fifth time since he heard the news from Seokmin yesterday.

“Good morning to you too.”

Chan chokes. Seungkwan pulls him in for a hug, not caring for the extensive medical equipment in the way as Chan breaks into broken sobs, relief coursing through him like a tsunami. The broken time machine that saved Seungkwan’s life lies on his bedside with a gigantic dent on its side, broken and no longer functional, yet Chan can’t bring himself to care. 

_The hardest thing to do for someone you love_ _is to let them go_.

Yet it’s so easy once you have someone else to live for.

“We’re finishing the quest though right?” Seungkwan asks gently. Chan laughs, broken as he mocks Seungkwan.

“How can you think about that right now?” Chan chokes out. Seungkwan smiles.

“I’m just curious,” he defends and Chan just breaks even further. He looks at Seungkwan through his tears, the one face he’s seen more than anyone Chan’s entire life. Like a puzzle piece that was missing for an eternity filling the void Hansol left so many months ago.

No.

It fills a new hole. One Chan never knew existed.

“I hate you so much,” Chan chokes out.

“Love you too.”

“I can’t believe it’s the first day of my life outside of the hospital and you’re dragging me out of bed early,” Seungkwan grumbles. Chan grins at him, entirely too carefree to worry about him. The wind cards through his hair like a whisper in a thunderstorm, a quiet presence that roots Chan’s existence to this very moment. The piece of paper in Chan’s hand sways softly in the wind like a leaf in a rainstorm, folding and nearly launching out of Chan’s hand before Seungkwan wraps his palm around Chan’s own. There’s a soft, fond smile on Seungkwan’s face and Chan can’t believe he used to be so dense to not see it. There’s an unspoken line between them, still not sure if the distance can close. Chan stares at Seungkwan wistfully.

“We’ve only got a few minutes left, Channie. Whatever you’re planning for our final reveal, do it quick,” Seungkwan mumbles, mindlessly carding his hand through the air. The ocean’s salty smell in Chan’s nose is like fresh air in a polluted city, cleansing and uplifting. It injects a sort of lightness in Chan’s shoulder he never knew would be possible since Hansol’s death. Or maybe, it’s Seungkwan’s hand over his, softly squeezing with a different kind of meaning. They say you realize a million things at your final moments, and Chan wonders if it particularly has to be his. He unfurls the paper, clearing his throat before holding it up to the lightening sky.

“The day when your time and my time meets, I will hold you,” Chan reads out loud, his voice carried by the winds. Seungkwan frowns.

“That’s it?” he mumbles, confused and sleepy. Ridiculously cute, Chan notes before shrugging.

“Hao said to go to the Sunset Islands, so maybe that’s got to mean something,” Chan points out. Seungkwan hums nonchalantly, carding his fingers through Chan’s fluttering bangs. Chan gives him a soft smile, watching as the first few rays of the sun hit Seungkwan’s face. Neither move to catch the first few rays, a palpable tension in the air as the words stuck in Chan’s throat for so long finally tumbles out.

“How long?” Chan asks. Seungkwan smiles wistfully.

“That night when you two first kissed,” Seungkwan whispers, brushing a stray strand of hair from Chan’s face as Chan’s heart squeezed, the unspoken guilt staying stuck in his throat.

“You pushed us together,” Chan points out, voice small, “Why?”

Seungkwan stays silent. The white streaks of clouds in the sky behind him pools like a halo around Seungkwan’s golden skin, reflecting the sunlight, but all Chan can think of is the rain cloud of their shoulders, a shared pain at first glance, but Seungkwan’s scars ran a little deeper.

“He makes you happier,” Seungkwan says simply, his hands falling off of Chan’s as he rests his forearms on the ship’s railing. Chan stares at him, unable to muster up any words.

“Seungkwan I—“

Seungkwan shakes his head, sighing.

“You deserve to be happy, Chan,” Seungkwan mumbles, glancing back to meet Chan’s gaze. Chan gulps.

“You make me happy,” Chan replies softly. Seungkwan shrugs, biting his bottom lip.

“Ddollie knew about me,” Seyngkwan mumbles, changing the topic. Chan’s eyes flutter with hurt. Did they all know?

“What did he say?” Chan asks. Seungkwan grimaces, a pained look on his face.

“He told me to keep holding onto hope. And then his will told me I had to go with you, or he’d never forgive me for pushing you two together at my own expense,” Seungkwan mutters, hanging his head low. Chan’s heart drops, hesitating to wrap a comforting arm around Seungkwan.

“I’m kind of an idiot,” Chan realizes, pursing his lips together. The corners of Seungkwan’s lips twitch.

“You think?”

“Channie! Kwannie! You two really came!” Sungyeon’s scream reaches them before Chan can spot her flamboyant red outfit, whooping and calling out to them as Chan and Seungkwan walk out of the ship. Seungkwan shrinks, glancing at the crowd giving them odd stares while Chan gives him a reassuring pat on the back.

“Sungyeon, if you keep yelling I will actually gag you!” Kyla shouts back, holding Sungyeon in a chokehold as Chan bursts out in cackles. Seungkwan facepalms, shaking his head as Chan drags them over to Kyla and Sungyeon.

“Sungyeon! Oh my god you’re so tall now!” Chan whoops, ruffling her hair as he frees her from Kyla’s hold. Seungkwan pushes them to a more hidden side of the docks, furiously apologizing to the onlookers as Sungyeon cackles.

“And you almost died again! Nayoung was practically fuming when she heard the news from Seungcheol!” Sungyeon retorts, pinching Chan’s cheeks and smushing them like he’s a baby. 

“I’m older than you, stop it!” Chan whines, trying to tear Sungyeon’s iron grip off him as she grins.

“You guys never visit us. I swear, tech people never get appreciation these days,” Kyla butts in the conversation, tackling Chan in a side hug as he struggles to keep his balance.

“I was a little busy,” Chan defends, glancing at Seungkwan for help. As per usual, Seungkwan looks away, completely ignorant of Chan’s struggles.

“Busy chasing after a dead guy? You can’t even save him now, if what Nayoung said is true!” Sungyeon calls him out. Chan rolls his eyes.

“I was so close! And plus, it worked without whatever piece he sent us here for, so I just want some answers, that’s all!” Chan defends. Kyla rolls her eyes.

“You accidentally triggered it. There’s a whole process and you accidentally got it all correct while it was being shot and thrown around like a ragdoll,” Kyla explains, “Plus, we were supposed to deliver a message before you did it, so come on. Minkyung went all out for dinner tonight.”

Seungkwan raises his eyebrow.

“I’ve never seen you girls eat anything but instant ramen.”

Kyla shoots him a death glare and opens her mouth to retort, but Chan’s cackle interrupts her. He sighs.

“Some things never change, do they.”

“Couldn’t he have just sent me the file for this?” Chan mumbles, staring at the small data pad in his hand. It seems so tiny, yet it was the answer to this entire goose hunt. Even the dim lamp next to Chan’s bed can’t seem to bring out much more than a soft sheen of silver light on the metallic parts. Somewhat lackluster, in Chan’s opinion. Sungyeom gives him an unamused stare.

“That data pad,” she says, exasperation in her tone, “Had instructions to activate one of the most delicate inventions I have ever seen. It’s meticulous and detailed, with a security system that’s ridiculously hard to crack and—“

“I mean, some dude shot it once. I just picked it up and it worked?” Chan retorts. Sungyeon throws her hands into the air as Seungkwan’s cackle fills the room.

“I’m leaving you two idiots to this. He sent you a message, so have fun, I guess. I’m done,” Sungyeon sighs, standing up to leave the room. She closes the door behind her, a soft click ringing in the air as Chan gives Seungkwan a look.

“Do you want to do the honors?” Chan asks. Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“He’s addressing it to you. Just play it,” Seungkwan encourages softly, patting Chan’s pyjamas-clad thighs. Chan grips the blankets on his bed, staring at the pad in hesitance as Seungkwan’s sigh rings in the room. The lights switch off, sending the room into near darkness as Chan flinches. Seungkwan grabs the data pad and presses the small side button, resting it on the foot of the bed as he pats Chan’s shoulder.

“It’s not going to hurt that bad,” Seungkwan tells him. Chan shrugs. He’s seen Hansol again, of course, immortalized in the photos saved on his holopad and the memories that clung to Chan like a spiderweb. But the flickering blue projection slowly opening up the video is almost too much for Chan. The photos and videos that he’s taken are like movies that are being replayed, a script Chan’s committed to memory. This, however…

Chan doesn't like uncertainty. It’s why he never liked looking forwards anyway. The past is a show he’s seen countless times. Chan can get used to it. But the future is a blank canvas, just waiting for Chan to fill it with something, but Chan doesn’t even know which brush to pick up.

The flickering holovid interrupts his thought, a close up shot of an all too familiar forehead popping up as Chan sucks in a breath. He’s all too aware of Seungkwan’s soft grip on his shoulders, a gentle squeeze of reassurance as Chan takes a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears in.

“Is this on?” Hansol’s voice rings out in the room, like a forgotten memory Chan never thought he was missing until he remembered it. The first tear slipped without him knowing.

“It’s on. Start talking,” Sungyeon’s voice echoes from behind the camera as Hansol nods slightly, moving back from the camera to sit down. He’s in a hoodie, the same oversized one Chan loved to drown himself in. Memories rush back involuntarily as Chan watches Hansol fix his hair slightly and stare at the camera, seemingly digging into the very pit of Chan’s soul.

“Hey… Channie. I guess, if you’re seeing this, I’m…” Hansol trails off, pausing and looking up as he searches for the right word. Seemingly unable to, Hansol just chuckles.

“I’m dead, I guess. Surprise…?” Hansol says, trying for jazz hands and Chan wants to throw a bookshelf at him. Sungyeon’s snort from behind the camera interrupts the moment, a harsh guat in the slow breeze Chan’s wrapping himself in to try and listen to Hansol.

“Wow, I forgot how annoying he was,” Seungkwan grumbles. Chan chuckles, but doesn’t respond.

“I guess you wanna know what this whole thing was for, but honestly? I’m not sure either. Jihoon told me how to do it and everything, so if something got on your nerves, go blame him, not me.”

Chan snorts.

“You’re stalling,” Chan mumbles, half for Hansol in the past, half for himself. Seungkwan chuckles with him.

“There’s a million things I wanna say to you. Really,” Hansol continues, deep voice dipping into a more mellow and less awkward tone as something flits through his eyes. Guilt? Hesitance?

“But mainly, I guess, I just want to tell you I love you. I don’t say it enough, really, just kind of echoing you when you say it, so here’s my formal apology. For a lot of stuff, I guess, but it’s an apology in general.

“I see you struggling to swallow the sights you see everyday, guilt swallowing you whole and every time I’m reminded of how terrible of a boyfriend I must be to not even be able to distract you from it for long enough. Kwannie does a better job at that, always the one you turn to and Chan—“

Handol chokes. The tears on Chan’s face is pooling now, wet puddles dripping down his cheeks that Seungkwan softly wipes away.

“I’m sorry,” Hansol continues, composing himself, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you or comfort you when the going gets hard. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you when life seemed to drag us both along. I’m sorry because I took your heart and a position I’m not sure I even deserved.”

He chokes again.

“You deserved everything,” Chan mumbles to himself, although it’s lore of a low rumble amidst his tears.

“I know this is so selfish of me to ask, but it's an apology I need to make. A reset, so you could find the true bandaid to the gaping hole I barely covered and Chan—I’m so sorry. But what kind of guardian would I be if I couldn’t even save you?

“I have to do this. If not for me, then it’s for you. For you to come out of this alive and healthy. I don’t want you to spiral out of control like Soonie is right now with Jihoon in the hospital. I don’t want you to unravel into guilt and ‘what if’s like Mingyu does with every life he can’t save. I don’t want you to fall into an endless cycle of memories like Minghao and his first love and it’s just—

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so selfish about this, but it’s you. You deserve to be happy, Chan. You deserve to heal from all of this… this mess. Let me be the trigger. And let yourself forget me.”

_ They say, the hardest thing someone could do for a loved one is to let them go. _

_ God. _

_ Chan hated that. _

_ Chan hates how his grandma is always right about this kind of ridiculous stuff and Chan hates how it breaks his heart every time, but he doesn’t have a choice. _

_ He’s older now, the pictures on his wallet of the glory days with all thirteen of them no longer eliciting tears from him. There’s a soft ocean breeze in his hair, the smell of Kangwon’s summer day in his lungs and a beautiful boy by his side, softening Chan’s death grip on the past with each passing day. He allows himself to fall into a routine, punctuated by the lectures and tests he slaves over every day in the Academy’s wooden walls. Seungkwan is by his side, still a striker for the alium units as he spends too many weeks away from Chan for Chan’s taste, but Chan joins him more than often anyway. At this point, Seungcheol has seen Chan’s students as a guest lecturer more than Chan himself. _

_ The scars on Chan’s mind don’t ever quite fade, yet Minghao tells him time and time again no scar truly heals. Chan’s let go, in a sense, allowing himself to move on but there’s always the nagging doubt in his mind. Soonyoung normally slaps him out of his haze by then, or Mingyu will tell him to stop or all of the stuff Chan’s salvaged from Hansol’s various belongings is going to end up in a thrift shop. _

_ But perhaps the most convincing of all the arguments is Seungkwan’s exasperated eyeroll, followed by a soft peck as he pulls Chan into a new adventure. _

_ The sun set the day Chan found his first love dead, but Hansol’s sunset met Chan and Seungkwan’s sunrise in the end, and well… _

_ The easiest thing to do for someone you lost is to remember their brightest moments forever. _

**Author's Note:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for reading this monster of a fic, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it! Special thanks go out to my wonderful beta, without whom I'd have thrown this fic in the trash already. If you liked this fic, drop a comment below and I'll be forever thankful to you!
> 
> If you want to, come yell at me on twitter @heonynchans!


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